


it feels like as if somebody was gripping my throat

by gottabewhatomorrowneeds



Series: i’ll give you all the nails you need [5]
Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys - My Chemical Romance (Album), The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Canonical Character Death, Fate & Destiny, Gen, Ghosts, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jet Star has TWO moms bc I say so, Mental Breakdown, Mysticism, Nonbinary Party Poison (Danger Days), Spirits, Temporary Character Death, Trans Kobra Kid (Danger Days), everyone is here of course, party poison says FUCK destiny and then dies, party poison: yes I’m an atheist. yes i met god. we exist., phoenix witch is a bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:54:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23232790
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottabewhatomorrowneeds/pseuds/gottabewhatomorrowneeds
Summary: Party Poison spends their time talking to ghosts until one day, they become one. There is no peace for the dead.
Series: i’ll give you all the nails you need [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622683
Comments: 6
Kudos: 22





	it feels like as if somebody was gripping my throat

When Party Poison first steps into the desert, they’re not the killjoy wannabe they would be at sixteen. They haven’t shed their one syllable, heavily gendered name and donned the name of Party Poison after a bad bar fight, or yanked a yellow mask over their face. They haven’t killed anyone yet, haven’t been torn away from their home, from their little sister just yet. They haven’t done anything too horrible, haven’t committed any mass atrocities.

They were eight years old. An eight-year-old with a sharp mind and too much curiosity.

They always had trouble with the pills BLi regulated. They never worked quite right on them even at a young age, unlike their sister, who popped them like candy and who seemed completely numb to the world. The pills didn’t numb their emotions, didn’t suppress any of their feelings. They just didn’t work.

BLi sends them new pills almost monthly, hoping some chemical concoction will respond. Apparently, they have a ‘chemical imbalance’ that wasn’t taken into account with. Party Poison is broken, but BLi will fix them.

Party Poison doesn’t care much for those pills. They don’t do anything half the time, and the other half they make them feel funny. They make them angry or sad or just weird in a sense that remains indescribable. They never do their job, so they just stop taking them.

It ends up being pretty easy to just stop. They quit cold turkey, and to get BLi off their back, they bury the pills in their backyard to make it seem like they’re eating it. By the time Party Poison is eight years old, they’ve almost completely lost any sense of dependency on the pills- by the time they're twelve, BLi will figure out they’ve developed an intense resistance.

Either case, Party Poison’s mind wasn’t addled with the haze of false medication. It was pretty easy to do ‘bad’ things, like pull pranks on their teachers or sneak out at night when you’re the only person who isn’t drugged into submission and stupidity. It’s easy to find faults in the system, even for an eight-year-old, when the system relies on the idea that the people are too unobservant, drugged, and apathetic to care to find loopholes.

But Party Poison loved loopholes, loved puzzles.

And they loved mysteries.

At that moment, in their eight-year-old head, the biggest mystery was this: what was beyond Battery City? They know there’s something called a desert, something called ‘nuclear ruins’ and ‘acid rain’ and ‘pig bomb fallout’. But they don’t know what any of those words mean except that it’s hot and dangerous out there. There are even rumors that villain rebels called killjoys live out there!

The idea that something interesting lurks just beyond the wall piques their interest. They spend weeks planning to make their big getaway, though they don’t plan on running away quite yet. They’re still trying to get their sister off her pills, get her to understand that life doesn’t have to be so monochrome. Once they can get her on their side, then they’ll leave Battery City once and for all.

They watch the Drac patrols that stand guard at the wall. It’s an easy pattern. The same people guard the wall at the same designated time periods. The shift changes are always at the same time, every day, without fail. Their punctuality is perfect. It’s a pattern, and it’s easy to exploit.

Surprisingly enough, it isn’t exactly hard to break out of Battery City.

There’s a five-minute delay between the guard shifts, meaning that there’s nobody guarding the wall. There are no cameras to watch for miscreants slipping through because they snuck into the neon district of the Lobby- the slums. No one cares about the poor, so no one bothers to screw in a couple of cameras. It’s plenty of time to slip through.

So Party Poison slips into the desert years and years before they’re meant to.

They are woefully, woefully ill-prepared. It’s blistering hot, the sun’s rays are scorching, there’s no shade for miles, they brought no water, and the sand threatens to burn through their shoes. They knew the desert was hot, but they didn’t realise it would be like walking through hell.

They wander about the desert, unsure of where to go or what to do. It’s surprisingly pretty boring. There’s no one around, no cool animals to try to pet, nothing. Just sand for miles and miles.

Party Poison loves colour. It’s something that resonates within their soul even more than rock and roll. Before their mother was taken away by BLi, she taught them everything about colour, snuck them as many crayons and papers she could find until BLi found her. It’s something that sticks to their soul.

At first, the desert colours entranced them. They’d never seen such a gorgeous shade of blue. The sky was bright with that wonderful blue, and the sun was this pretty golden colour they couldn’t look at for too long or else it’d leave strange shapes dancing across their vision. The sand was even an interesting colour.

But it eventually got a little boring, because those were the only colors for miles. Party Poison has seen the gold of the sun before, has seen the blues of people’s eyes. It’s nothing completely new.

So, admittedly, they think about going home. They never meant to stay in the desert for too long. They needed to get back to their sister, back home before someone notices they’ve been gone for too long. Besides, it is awfully hot and they’re desperate for a little bit of water. There’s nothing interesting here, not yet.

“Hey, kid? Are you lost?”

Party Poison spins on their heels. A man stands in front of them, old and weathered likely by the sun. He seems almost faded, strangely washed out. The outfit he wore likely was colorful in his days of old, but they remain bizarrely bled dry, like the color’s been completely sapped.

“Yeah, actually…” They clasp their hands together. “Can you help me get back home? I’m looking for Battery City. I don’t want my sister to be alone for too long.”

The man glances at the child, something strange on their face. Expressions are still hard for Party Poison to read, considering the usual blank smile of their peers. “You can see me, huh?”

“I… yes?”

“And you want to go back to Battery City?”

“Yeah, because that’s where my sister is. Are you just gonna repeat everything I said?”

He laughs at that, his voice low and timber. “No, no. Sorry, most people here don’t go looking for Battery City. But I’ll help you out. Go west and keep that way for a while- you’ll hit a Battery City wall eventually.”

“Which way is west?”

The man points directly behind them. Poison glances over their shoulder, sighing. They definitely walked in a lot of circles in their journey to find something interesting. “Hey, thanks-”

Poison looks back at the man, only to find empty space. They blink a few times, hesitantly moving towards the spot where he had been. How’d he leave so fast? And quietly? A trap door, like in those MouseKat cartoons?

Poison glanced west. Maybe he was like a mole and burrowed to get away from Poison. Could be. 

Poison shrugged and walked west. As long as his directions were sound, then it didn’t really matter. They needed to get back home to their sister. 

Hey, is that a lizard?

-

Party Poison doesn’t step back out into the desert until years later. 

But Party Poison does become acquainted with people who mysteriously vanish. 

They wander about the Lobby slums as they grow a bit older, curious about the world beyond their little apartment. There’s color in the Lobby, color and music and so many attractive things that would never pass through BLi’s regulation. They’re allured by the strangeness, by all the out of tune notes and painted murals on crumbling buildings.

They like the Lobby, even though it’s filled with lots of sad people and robots. Like Red and Blue. They try to chat the girls up every time they run into each other- the android girls seem to like them a lot, especially Blue. 

But there’s a lot of busy souls that wander through the Lobby. Party Poison is by nature a talker and an asker- if they see someone doing something interesting or strange, then they’ll go up to them and start asking questions. It’s honestly a wonder that something horrible hasn’t happened to them yet, but all of the strangers have been relatively friendly.

Still, sometimes people give them funny looks when they talk to people. And sometimes those people disappear when Poison’s not looking. But Poison doesn’t care, as long as their questions get answered.

They like the Lobby and all the strange people within.

-

BLi wrenches then away from their home.

 _You’re broken_ , they crooned to them as they kicked their legs and shoved them out of their home, _you’re a danger to society. All you ever do is hallucination. You’re delusional and a problem that must be solved. We’ll cure you. We’ll make you better._

They’d been caught slumming in the Lobby. They’d been caught burying their pills. They had gotten caught, all because they had a stupid out burst because there was something fucked up in their head that made them swing from depression lows to manic highs.

They’re not delusional. They’re not crazy or broken or fucked up. 

They get snatched away from their home, and their little sister watches them kick and scream as they are dragged tooth and nail away from her.

-

They tell them that they’re insane. They’re giving them therapy, that’s all. A bit of re-education. They’ll find a way to get the medication to work, and they’ll become a perfect citizen. BLi will fix them.

They don’t believe a word they say. They’re not insane, they’re not hallucinating, they’re not delusional.

The Director herself interviews them, drops file upon file over their supposed disorder. “You have extreme audio, visual, and even tactile hallucinations and delusions. You speak to people that don’t exist.”

She shows them footage of them rummaging around the Lobby, or them walking down the street to school. The videos show them speaking to themself as if there was another person, but they were completely alone. But they remember those instances, they remember the people in those videos who should be standing right there, who should be visible.

Party Poison fights all the treatments they give them. They’re not insane, they don’t want a cure, they don’t need to be fixed.

They see people wander the halls, people who should be locked away and shouldn’t have free reign over the facility. They talk to them in hushed tones, with haunted looks of all the things that happened to them in this facility. Party Poison listens, entranced with their stories until someone pulls them away, until they get told off for hallucinating again.

Party Poison wants to scream. They’re right there! They’re always right there! But no one listens, no one cares.

-

BLi tires of their constant infractions. They send them to isolation, and then prep them for Draculoidizarion.

“It’s a tough process,” the girl in the corner of their room says, somber. They don’t know how she got there when the door is supposed to be locked tight, but they don’t question it. They’re lonely, and they only have tonight until they get carted off for Drac prepping tomorrow. “It’s kind of scary. They did it to my mom.”

Party Poison buries their face in their hands. “What happened to your mom? Why was she here? And you?”

“Oh, she’s still around. She and I got locked up because we see colour. Something called sythestasia. I see colours when I hear music, and my mom tasted things listening to people speak. BLi doesn’t like divergences from the norm.” She hums. 

“I see.”

“They’re gonna stuff you full of amnesia,” she continues. “They have to do special prep work for you, because you got a strong soul. They’re gonna erase you completely, which they don’t do often. Your brain’s all weird, too, so they gotta do lots of work before wiring you into the tube.”

“Please, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore…”

“It’s not painful. At least, I never heard my mom scream when she did it. Though, I think a few others have, actually.” She hums. “Actually, yeah, it is kinda painful. Lots of other people scream.”

“Please…”

“Being a Drac though, that’s going to be the worst part. Those masks! Awful! They twist and knot up your soul and devour you from the inside out! They make you see terrible monsters and they just utterly destroy you! They-“

“Shut up!”

They sob into their hands. They don’t want to be erased, they don’t want to forget their little sister or their pretty mom or the colours she taught them or what rebellion tastes like. They don’t want to be fixed, not like this, not cured.

They just sit there, sobbing and wailing into their hands. The little girl doesn’t say another word as Party Poison screams. They’re garbled words, nonsense.

By the time they calm down, their face is red and their nose is running. “Hey, I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

They glance up. The girl’s disappeared.

-

Party Poison gets Draced.

They have no memories until they make some, and those memories become tainted with blood. Their vision is hampered with strange monsters and beasts, of monsters that wear neons and have strange hair colours.

All they ever see is red, red blood that stains their uniform after days of hard work.

-

They hear voices sometimes, even see flickers of people. When they step into the desert on their mission handed to them by BLi, to go on patrol or to go raid a new hideaway they found, they see strange things.

The desert is crawling with life, with people who flicker into existence then flicker back out. They try to speak to them, try to tell them their life story or get them to listen, but Poison always blocks them out.

They speak to BLi every time it happens, and BLi just hands them some pills. They pop them like candy and they forget about the haunted, frail faces of the strange people in the desert until they see their ghastly forms again.

-

It continues for years. But they don’t think twice about much. They just keep popping their medication, and BLi keeps a tight eye out on them.

Slowly, their complaints over visions of strange people die down. Sights of people being where they don’t belong, of children with ancient eyes and adults whispering their life stories to them, who glimmer oddly in the sun’s rays, begins to stop. The doses they’re taking are fogging over their brain like frost on a window.

Party Poison doesn’t care. No more voices, no more haunted eyes? No more problems.

It makes them perform better. No more distractions on the field, no more unregulated sights. No more people clawing at their clothes, begging for mercy, for their ears (well, no more than there should be). They forget about the strange visions- BLi says they’re unimportant, and by now, it’s been months. No point in holding onto things BLi seems unnecessary.

The only thing in Poison’s vision is red.

-

The director meets them. She’s impressed by their work. She loves little soldiers that do her bidding, and she offers a promotion. Join the S/C/A/R/E/C/R/O/W unit.

It’s not an offer. It’s an order.

Party Poison accepts without a thought. 

Behind the director, a woman’s image flickers.

-

New medication gets prescribed. Poison pops them without second thought.

-

Something’s very, very wrong.

Party Poison’s on another mission. They managed to intercept a killjoy party between two gangs. They don’t know the names of the gang nor the killjoys. They just see their neon colours, their determined faces. They see them as strange monsters, as people who need to be killed for the protection of society.

It’s easy. It’s a simple mission- these killjoys are amateurs. They can barely figure out which end of the gun to hold.

Party Poison doesn’t think twice (right? Their hand isn’t shaking when they look one of those killjoys in the eyes before sending off a shot that sends her skidding into a cactus, limp). They point and shoot and kill.

Eight killjoys fall to the ground. Blood spills across the desert sand. There’s a strange feeling in the pit of their stomach. Are they falling ill?

There’s movement in the corner of their eyes. Their hands twitch to their gun, and they spin on their heels, determined to take down any surprise killjoys. Those bastards multiply like rats.

The girl by the cactus is watching them. Poison stares at her, caught off guard (they shouldn’t be capable of being caught off guard). They glance back at the cactus and-

Her body’s still laying there, broken and bleeding. Her brains are spilling out on the desert floor. She’s very, very dead.

They glance back at the girl. She shimmers slightly. “Nice job, jackass.”

They blink. Someone tugs their arm. They don’t follow (they need to follow). “There’s another killjoy. I thought there were only eight.”

The Drac besides them glances to where their eyes are trained. “There’s nothing there.”

Poison blinks. The girl sticks her tongue out at them. The Drac just pats their shoulder. “We need to leave.”

Poison hesitantly trails after the Drac. But they keep their eyes on the girl as they slip into the van. 

As they drive on, Poison sees more killjoys appear by the girl.

There’s eight of them.

-

Party Poison is panicking. They shouldn’t be able to do that, first of all, but they are now. Everything feels suddenly sharp, and they hate it, they hate it all so much. Thoughts are passing through their head, and they hate it, hate it so fucking much. 

They don’t talk to BLi, though.

They need a medication adjustment. Whatever they gave them as prepping for being an exterminator isn’t doing the trick. Somethings wrong.

(They keep their mouth shut at the biweekly inspection).

-

They’re an exterminator now. They’re leading a mission with Korse in the Lobby. Usually, BLi doesn’t bother dealing with the worthless lower class, but some of the killjoys have been bleeding out of the Lobby districts and into the cleaner parts of Battery City.

They raid an underground club. Gun shots are nearly swallowed by the bass tab. screams break out, and laser fire returns tenfold. 

They gun down a couple of people. Something in them is churning, though. Their gun is shaking, and for some reason, these people don’t look like monsters anymore, their forms aren’t twisted and vile. They seem human.

They corner one of them. They don’t know the names here, but they hear a comrade scream for Donnie, so they assume this is Donnie. They stare at each other.

His eyes are defiant, his head tilted up. “What’s wrong? Getting cold feet?”

They don’t know what that means. Hearing his voice is strange. It’s human. It’s human.

“Come on, aren’t you gonna kill me?” Donnie shrugs. “Flattered that an exterminator is going to be the one to take me out.”

Their hand shakes. They’ve killed hundreds of times before. What’s different? What’s different?

“Hey, are you okay?” Donnie inches closer. “Dude, you’re shaking?”

He places a hand in theirs. It triggers a reaction, a reflex. They shoot their gun, the shot snaring the man in the face. He doesn’t scream, just falls to the ground, and Poison feels his blood splatter their feet.

His mask gets destroyed in the fire of the bullet. Poison sees his face, and they’ve never experienced nausea before, but the urge to throw up suddenly washes over them. 

That’s not a man. He looks their age.

Poison slinks to the back of the fight. Laser fires grind to a halt. Poison sees all these corpses, all these broken and bloodied bodies, and suddenly, they don’t see monsters. They all look nearly their age.

Korse finds his way to Poison. They’re not sure how long he’s been standing next to them. He sees the blood on their pants and nods. “Great work out there.”

It’s all he offers before he moves towards the patrol of Dracs. Poison just stares absently at the carnage, at all the bodies. The scent of burnt flesh and blood pervades their senses, and they become acutely aware of just how much blood is seeping into the concrete ground.

A shimmer distracts them. They glance to the side, and they see a killjoy with purple hair making silly faces behind Korse. Another killjoy was laughing as the one with purple hair gave Korse bunny ears and mimicked his movements.

They hand twitches towards their gun. “Hey, stop that.”

The killjoys glance up. A couple Dracs look over at them, but they’re focused solely on the killjoys. They’re dead- they watched them get shot down.

“Huh? You see us?” The purple haired girl asked.

“Not a normal exterminator,” the other croons.

Poison rubs their eyes. The killjoys have disappeared. The Dracs are beginning to file out, and Poison should be leaving with them. But they stand, rooted in place.

“Huh.” A voice catches their attention. They swivel on their heels. Donnie watches them with a strange expression. “You have Her eyes.”

“What?”

He doesn’t explain. “Interesting. She’s got plans for you, kid.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sucks that you killed me, dude.” He glances behind them. “But it’s good to know there will be people that can talk to me until She comes.”

“What are you…”

He points behind them. Poison glances over and finds Korse’s eyes on them. They glance at Donnie, who’s disappeared now.

They rub their eyes and make their way out of the club.

-

They’re going insane. There’s so many people, so many people who shouldn’t be there. Every time they walk into the Lobby, Donnie appears beside them. He doesn’t give them any information, doesn’t say a word, just silently watches them as they slaughter more people.

Poison can feel something in them break. As more and more blood stains their uniform, as red paints over their vision, they find themself slipping into an emotion they never felt before- disgust.

Paranoia is clawing at the throat. Korse is watching them with a keen eye. He knows there’s something wrong with them. He knows, and it’s only a matter of time before they discover the pile of pills under their bed. It’s only a matter of time before they figure out the medication doesn’t work.

It’s a matter of time before they figure out their mind is crumbling.

There’s a little girl that lingers in their room. She doesn’t speak a word, just watches them as they try to cope with all these newfound experiences. She’s younger than them. There’s blood dribbling down her mouth. Poison doesn’t talk to her.

They ignore her as they pace about the room. They’re cracking, they’re going crazy. All these people they keep seeing- they’re not there. That little girl doesn’t exist. No one else can see them.

No one else feels this slimy disgust down their spine every time they pull the trigger. No one else feels. They’re broken, a clogged gun, a faulty grenade. They need to get fixed. They need to get fixed. They need to get fixed.

There’s no thought.

They slip the pill bottles out from under the mattress. The little girl just watches, eyes gleaming with emotions they can’t comprehend.

The medicine hasn’t been working. Maybe they just need to up the dosage. If they take enough, surely, surely it’ll fix them? BLi always fixes messes, their medication always works. They just need to fix this.

They dump the pills into their palm. They stare at the mirror in the bathroom. The girl is watching them through the reflection. They squeeze their eyes shut. They just want these people to go away.

They swallow pill after pill, a prayer on their tongue. They’re so tired of this, of killing, of being haunted by ghosts.

Something doesn’t feel right.

Poison hits the ground, and the lights go out.

-

_“There’s nothing to fix.”_

_Feathers drift around them. They glance towards the source. She stands before them, looming, Her mask conveying no emotions for them to read._

_“Trust me. I made you just the way you are. There’s nothing wrong with you.”_

_They claw at their throat. It burns, probably from all the medication._

_“Now come on. This isn’t your end, not here on this bathroom floor. Come on.”_

_A clawed hand reaches out to them. Her claws gleam in the fluorescent bathroom light._

_“Try again, harder this time.”_

-

Poison wakes up. The girl watches from her same spot. They cough, wheezing a bit, the taste of the medication still leaving a burning after taste.

They dump the rest of the pills down the toilet. They gurgle water until they can’t taste those pills anymore.

The girl doesn’t say a word. But she does offer them a small smile.

-

Another mission, this one in the zones. It’s their first time on a solo mission, leading their own group. They’re jittery, trying to remain emotionless to the rest of the group, paranoia gripping their heart with tight knuckles.

It’s just a patrol. It’s easy.

Until they find a crew.

There’s five kids. They look just a little older than them. 

A firefight breaks out. The Dracs are pretty quickly incapacitated, because these kids know how to fight this time. Poison’s gun quivers the entire time, and they shoot at cacti instead of the kids.

One of the kids gets shot down. Another follows suit. They watch as they both drop like flies, and in their dying breaths, they try to hold each other’s hands. Their heart pounds in their chest.

Dracs surround a third one. Party Poison hears gunshots and averts their eyes from them.

The others are running. They’re in zone five, where the canyons run strong and valleys are carved into the sands. They’re slipping down rocks, desperate to escape.

Party Poison chases after them. They’ve got quite the head start against their Drac peers. Those numbers have dwindled. 

The two slip down a gorge. Poison trails, following down the maze of rocks. The two fire off a couple of shots, but they miss. Poison doesn’t even know what they’re gonna do when they catch them.

A dead end causes the two of them to stop in their tracks. They’re two boys, and they’re definitely boys. They’re not men, nor monsters, nor anything except a couple of boys. They hold each other’s hands, their guns pointed at them. They shake, clearly terrified.

Emotions. BLi says they’re bad. They lead to bad thoughts, like suicide or treason. They lead to bad feelings, like misery and hate.

Poison’s never seen people look so human. 

Slowly, they lower their gun. The Dracs have lost their trail, trying to amble after them, but unable to weave through the canyon. They’re just reanimated corpses, this patrol- most are.

The two boys look at them. They’re squeezing their hands even tighter, and they can hear the shorter one whisper words of love. 

Hesitantly, they step aside. They wave their gun towards the exit. “Go.”

The boys stare at them. They keep their guns on them, and don’t move. Poison growls. “Go! Hurry up!”

The boys exchange eye contact. Quickly, they scramble away from the rock wall and scurry away from Poison. They know they’ll make it out safe.

They give them a few seconds head start, then dart off in the opposite direction. They find a lost squad of Dracs and begin to corrowd them towards their vans. They weren’t fast enough to catch the other two, but three out of five ain’t bad.

They pass by the corpses of the couple’s peers. They’re charred, crisp, blood gushing from their wounds. Vultures are already picking them clean, unperturbed by the line of Dracs moving by.

A glimmer catches their eye. One of the killjoys stares after them. They make eye contact. There’s a lull, as Poison waits.

“Thank you.”

Their stomach churns at the words. They saved their friends, but not them.

They drive off. In the rear view mirror, they can see three spectres standing, watching them drive off.

-

They have too much blood on their hands to change, but it won’t hurt to try. They’re going to sneak out of Battery City. Everyone already suspects something is wrong with them, and they can’t afford to get bleached. They have to make their move, or die trying.

They prep, watching the guards. It’s an easy pattern- the guard shifts for the outer wall haven’t changed in all the years they’ve worked. In the facility they live in, it wouldn’t be too hard to break out either. Everything is on a routine schedule, rigid and easy to exploit.

BLi doesn’t care. They don’t expect anyone to have the balls or the free will to break in or out. Not when the facility is in the middle of the city.

They make their plans. They make amends. If they die, they die. At least they tried to change.

-

They make a mistake. Their paranoia’s intensified, and they found themself staying up at night, paranoid. They know they’re being watched, they can feel the Director standing outside their door, they can feel Korse’s eyes in the middle of the night.

They can’t take it anymore.

They disregard everything they’d been doing for weeks to prepare for their escape. They don’t care about the tight schedule they keep, how easy it would be to wait even a few more hours. They slip into the night, running as fast as they can.

Alarms in the facility sound off, but Party Poison doesn’t care. They feel manic, something strange swelling their lungs. They’re god now, they can’t be touched, they can’t die. They’re going to break free, and they can’t be stopped.

Dracs trail after them, but they’re already slipping out into the streets. Lasers light up the dark roads. There’s not a soul outside- no civilians can exit their homes until six and its way past curfew.

They hear the roar of an engine. They don’t care. They’re untouchable, they can’t be stopped, they can’t die. They can’t be captured. They feel unshakeable, yet paranoia is clawing at their brain to run faster, harder. They’re going to catch up. Run.

The Dracs at the outer wall don’t even know what hit them. Before they can turn on the alarm, Party Poison’s already shooting them dead in their tracks. Burnt flesh fills the air, but they’re so wrapped up in the idea of escaping that the sensation doesn’t register. Their feet ache, their legs burn, their lungs are on fire, and they nearly trip over the bodies they made, but they don’t even notice. They’re so close to freedom.

They slip outside, into the desert. Ink spills on the land, and they have no idea where to go or what to do now that they’re outside. Paranoia pushes them to keep running. Their legs move without thought.

They hear engines screaming distantly and they only run faster.

-

The night is cold. They don’t feel the frigid temperature, too unfocused and numb to feel anything. Their feet slaps against the sand, crunching the small grains under foot. They don’t register anything, panic spreading through their system.

They need to keep running.

Keep running.

Run.

-

They don’t stop running. Not even when the night turned to day, when they stopped sweating, when their heels began to bleed, when their lungs started to scream and their muscles threatened to spasm.

“Hey kid.” 

They pull out their gun and start firing. They don’t care. They need to survive, keep going, keep going.

The shots pass through the person. It’s a killjoy, but all their colours seem to have faded. It’s strange, because all the other spectres they’ve seen are still bright. Though, they’re usually fresh from a fight.

They heave, their lungs desperate to make up for so much time spent running. They flip their wet hair back, sweat dripping down their face.

“You can hear me?” They nod. The killjoy smiles. “Nice. You just left Battery City, huh?”

They nod. “The nest is a couple miles away, but it’s the closest thing here. Head south east.”

She points, and Poison’s eyes follow. They glance back at her, but she’s disappeared. Poison keeps running.

-

It’s night time when they finally succumb.

Dust and grime stain their entire body. They collapse into the sand, their entire body filled with white hot pain. They need to keep going, and they crawl on the ground for a few moments before their arms give out.

Snippets of voices fill their ears. Flickers of ghosts appear before their eyes and they squeeze them shut. Screams echo, bouncing around. A few hands are clawing at their jacket, and they’re too dehydrated to cry. 

“Leave me alone!” Their voice breaks then cuts out before finishing their sentence. There’s sobbing, and it’s not theirs. Spirits have never been malevolent before, but maybe it’s different now.

They scream at them, about being an exterminator. They sob about their lives, about how they stole them from them, and Party Poison cries without tears.

Everything burns. Hands keep touching and pulling at them, and they can’t even swat at them. They just bury their face into their arms.

Eventually, the spirits disappear. Party Poison weeps into the night, until their vision turns black, until their lungs quietly stop.

-

_“You sure are eager to die.”_

_She clicks Her tongue, a bit muffled from Her mask. She sounds almost amused._

_“You’re way too early, however.”_

_Feathers tumble to their feet._

_“You only just started to get your colour. You’ve got more things to do.”_

_She extends Her hand. In the waxing moon, Her claws gleam. She offers them something, expectant._

_“Try again.”_

-

They arch awake. Screams echo, but they don’t sound like the distorted screams of those spectre’s that clawed at them.

Two faces peers down at them. Three guns are pointed at the head. They stay flat on the ground, and offer a tired wave. Everything aches.

“What the hell?” The woman on the left whispers. She’s taller, the tallest person they’ve ever seen.

“I swear, there wasn’t a pulse on that thing!” The shorter girl cries. She has two guns. One of those is their’s.

“Hey,” they croak out. “Am I near the nest?”

“Why? So you can shoot it up?”

“I just… want some water…”

They drift off again.

-

Newsagogo and Hot Chimp are apparently the ones who save them, after nearly running them over with their Volvo. They take them to their club, where they quickly learn they had actually walked in the opposite direction the ghost had told them to go. Instead of the nest, they found Bullets, the girlfriends’ nightclub.

They offer their story, tiredly. Hot Chimp and Newsie listen, enraptured. An exterminator going rogue? Completely unheard of.

They don’t trust them. Poison doesn’t blame them. They give them a spot in the club, but they keep tight security around them. Hot Chimp clearly doesn’t like them, but she offers them a second chance.

“Everyone deserves a do-over,” she states. “But if you fuck this up, I’m going to fuck you up right back.”

-

The Neon Angels are a nice bunch. Poison lies about their age, says they’re eighteen, so they can join the group. Newsagogo offered them a position as the secretary, but it seemed like minimal work in comparison to the Neon Angels. They didn’t want to skim by.

The Neon Angels are a nice group, mostly of girls. They all coo over them, excited to have a new face join their group, and especially someone so young. They take an immediate shine to them, asking them all sorts of questions, trying to initiate them into the group.

No one cares that Party Poison has weird mood swings. No one cares when they stay up for days on end, frantically trying to learn a new hobby. No one cares when they lay in bed for days, unable to move a bone. They find them eccentric, interesting. As long as they don’t hurt anyone, no one comments on their mood.

No one tries to fix them.

No one says anything about the way they talk to walls. They get a few strange looks, a few wondering eyes, but no one says a word when Poison speaks to people they claim to be unable to see.

There’s a lot of ghosts in Bullets. Raids happen all the time in stationary nightclubs, either gang wars or Dracs. There’s a lot of ghosts mingling about, enjoying their time in an eternal rave.

No one spares Party Poison a glance.

It’s nice. 

It’s… really nice.

-

A raid occurs.

It was about time, really.

The Neon Angels protectively try to pull them to the back. They try to keep them to the side as they all try to hide when a firefight breaks out. 

But Party Poison won’t sit and watch. They’ve fought before, thousands of times. They know how to use a gun, and they won’t be cowed into standing back. Not when they can protect those who tried to protect them, who offered them friendship and respect.

So they pull out their gun and they start shooting.

It’s a Drac raid this time. It doesn’t hurt any less to pull the trigger against those who were comrades. It doesn’t hurt any less to realise there are people behind those masks, people who could be just like them, who will die without ever exploring what side they truly want to fight on.

Party Poison guns down most of the Dracs. A couple of killjoys have stayed behind, firing ruthlessly at the raid. Others have left- by scurrying out the doors or from death.

Fires blaze in the background. Poison fires shot after shot, trying to keep a clear mind. Now isn’t the time to debacle their morality. Now is the time to fight, to fight for the Neon Angels, to fight for Hot Chimp and Newsagogo, who gave them a home, a second chance. 

Shimmers catch their eye. Ghosts move about the club. There’s not too many bodies laying around- most killjoys managed to get out, or are killing Dracs. One of the ghosts watches them, a hard look in their eyes. They look familiar.

(They don’t think as they gun down the head exterminators. They don’t think as they pull the trigger on both of them. There’s no time for morals.)

Poison tries not to dwell on it.

The firefight slowly dies down. Hot Chimp and Newsagogo, who had been fighting the entire time, were kissing each other under the disco ball. A guy with a helmet that said ‘noise’ on it was watching them. A couple other killjoys were cheering in the background as they headed towards the bar part.

They glance away from the couple in the corner, sobbing over the corpse of a friend. They see that friend standing over, hugging one of them. 

“Hey! Kid!”

The guy with the motorcycle helmet is waving them over. Hot Chimp sends them a small smile, and Newsagogo is frantically waving. Hesitantly, they pick their way across the battlefield, ignoring the ghosts that linger. One of them blows raspberries at them.

“Hey, kid!” Newsie cheers. “This is my cousin, Show Pony!”

Show Pony takes off their helmet. Immediately, they can see the resemblance. “That was some pretty good fighting. You took out half the squad by yourself.”

“Oh, huh.” It felt like thousands of them were behind their gun. “Yeah.”

“Here’s the thing.” Show Pony leans on them, and arm draping across their shoulder. “You’re a really, really good shot. How do you feel about BLi?”

A rage summers in their chest. Of course they’re a good shot when BLi turned them into a child soldier. They bite their lip and clench their fist. “Hate them.”

“Wicked! Now, how would you feel about becoming a killjoy?” 

Party Poison blinks. They’ve listened to the radio before, heard Dr. D’s silky smooth voice preen about the killjoy cause, about crumbling BLi. It was a nice dream Party Poison allowed themself to have sometimes, thinking about becoming the very thing that destroyed BLi. But it was a fantasy.

They couldn’t become a killjoy. (Not when they’ve slaughtered so many).

“I’d… be flattered.” It’s careful, it’s cautious.

“I think I’ve got a couple of friends who would love you! Though, who wouldn’t?” They pinch their cheeks. “You are absolutely adorable! I’d love to get to know you…” There’s something provocative in their smile. “... personally.”

Newsie slaps their hand. “Do not sexually harass this kid.”

“Fine, fine.” They untangle themself from Party Poison. “But what do you say, really? I could get you a gang. Would you like to be a killjoy? What do you want?”

The words strike them. Finally, a say in their destiny. A say in what they want to become. 

They offer their hand.

Party Poison takes it. They smile, all sharp teeth. “Oh, I’d love to.”

-

They whisper goodbyes to all the Neon Angels. They tearfully let them go, and lots of hugs are given as they all pass them around. It’s something Party Poison won’t ever forget, how much love these people had for them. They say those that sell their body care for nothing but themselves, but Party Poison knows the truth as they watch all those sets of eyes tear up.

A ghost stops them just as they are about to meet the others and Show Pony. She doesn’t say a word for a few moments, then slaps their shoulder. “Use this second chance wisely.”

Party Poison doesn’t remember her face. Her colours have bleed out and faded, meaning she’s an old ghost. They simply nod. She disappears, quietly.

Newsagogo cries. She had begun to think of them as a kid sibling. “Oh! Have fun! Visit often! If you don’t then I will hunt you down and run you over with my van!”

A bone crushing hug leaves Hot Chimp left. She offers them a fist bump, then, when Show Pony and Newsie are talking, a word of advice. “Dr. D isn’t a good man. Not all killjoys are, either. If you want to become something important, a fire to destroy BLi, you need to be careful.” She pokes a finger in their chest. “There’s a lot of people out there who don’t believe in second chances. Your past needs to stay that way- in the past. Dr. D will steal your story. Your friends may betray you.”

She takes a deep breath. “Just be careful kid. Don’t become a martyr. Don’t do anything stupid.”

Party Poison doesn’t promise anything to her. They don’t know what the future holds, they don’t know how they’re going to end, but something in them keeps them from making any promises. “Don’t worry, Hot Chimp. I’ll do my best.”

She gives them a tight hug.

Show Pony and they get on the bike. And they drive off into the sunset.

-

“Man, there’s so many people out.” Party Poison stares at all the ghosts they drive by. They start to blur together as Show Pony cranks up the speed of the motorcycle.

Pony’s head tilts. “What?”

“You know, all those people just standing around. Like her.” They point at the woman to their left, a bit far off. She’s holding a small child. She’s dressed solely in black.

“You can see her?” Show Pony’s voice sounds strange, almost excited yet frightened.

“Y… yes?”

“You have Her Eyes.” Show Pony has a strange smile carved into their face. “I have them, too.”

Her eyes. They’ve heard that term before. “Her Eyes? What the hell does that mean?”

“Do you know the story of the Phoenix Witch?”

“No?” They’ve heard the name passed around a few times, but never got a proper explanation over Her.

“She’s our deity, our here. Call Her the patron saint of switchblade fights. She’s the goddess of death, and She carries souls into the afterlife. I can get into this lore even deeper, but I’ll give you cliff notes. She’s a deity of death, got it?”

“Right?”

“Sweet. So all these people you’re seeing- those are ghosts. They say the Witch gifts a handful of people to be able to see between the veil between the living and the dead. The Witch allows us to see ghosts, wandering spirits who haven’t gotten into the afterlife yet.”

Poison blinks. “They’re not hallucinations?”

“I see them too, buddy.”

Something in Poison settles. It’s an indescribable feeling. Contentment? “Oh.”

They’re not broken. They really never needed to be fixed. They all exist, they all exist. They were right.

It doesn’t really make them feel all that well.

-

They arrive at the shack. It’s dilapidated and looks uninhabited. Still, they follow Show Pony inside, curious and unperturbed. Show Pony kicks the door open.

“Look what I found, bitches!”

Well, how is Party Poison supposed to follow that entrance?

They peek their head inside, following after Show Pony. Three heads all snap up at the sight of them, the other keeps his eyes on a magazine he’s reading. They offer a small wave. 

“Show Pony,” the guy with the magazine drawls. “I told you, if this is another fucking coyote you’re trying to domesticate, I’m going to shoot you.”

Show Pony huffs. “Cherri Cola, get that stick out of your ass and appreciate this utter angel I just delivered.”

Cherri Cola glances up. His face remains unimpressed. Party Poison doesn’t know what to do.

“Show Pony,” one of the others ask. He’s got greasy black hair and is wearing a hideous shade of green. “Who the fuck did you bring and why?”

“This is Party Poison! I just watched them destroy an entire Drac patrol by themself, and two exterminators!”

That captures everyone’s attention. All of them sit up straighter. Poison blinks.

“Woah, I didn’t take down the whole patrol.”

“You did.” Show Pony shrugs. “Chimp, Newsie, and a couple others started to fight, but we kind of stopped because we were watching you. I think, combining all of our kills together, it was like, four. You got like, twenty. And the exterminators.”

“Holy fuck!” The greasy hair guy jumps from his seat. “You’re dripping in murder!”

Poison winces at the words. They’re supposed to be a compliment, they think. “Yeah…”

“Anyway!” Show Pony pushes them forward. “You want to start a gang to destroy BLi, right?”

The trio on the couch nods. The guy with a thick head of hair and all black clothes adds, “Of course!”

“Here’s your guy. They’ve got a shit ton of inside information on BLi, and they’re a sick fighter. Look, I brought them all this way here just for you instead of keeping them to myself! Appreciate them!”

“Inside information?” The greasy guy repeats.

“I worked in BLi as a secretary.” Party Poison interrupts, just as Show Pony opens their mouth. “I’ve looked at a lot of files and stuff. I could probably sneak you guys in or something.”

The guy in all black stands up. “That would be great! I’m Jet Star!”

“Fun Ghoul.” The greasy haired kid sends them a sharp toothed smile.

“Kobra Kid.” The blond guy next to Ghoul has a quiet voice. Poison can’t help but notice how he’s been staring at them this entire time, like he’s seeing a ghost. Poison knows that expression well.

“Party Poison.”

Show Pony lets out a while. “You four, fabulous killjoys are gonna be something, I can promise that!”

-

It’s… strange.

The other three take them in. They act like a family already, and it’s only been a few weeks. Fun Ghoul’s trying to teach them how to make a bomb, Jet Star and them share a room, and Kobra Kid, while a bit reserved around them, has been talking more and more.

They let them in their group with open arms. Everytime Poison thinks about that, their heart twists. They don’t say a word about their true past, thinking back to Chimp’s words. They keep it in their heart, and they pretend that they haven’t slaughtered their friends before.

(Is it so selfish, to keep such a secret?)

There’s no trust. Not yet. They’re nice to them, they like them. They’re friends. But Poison hasn’t proved themself, not yet.

That’s fine.

They’ve got time.

-

A firefight breaks out while they’re on a joy ride. It’s easy- just another Drac patrol. Party Poison swallows down the strange melancholy they feel every time they have to fight, and the four of them pile out of the car.

It’s easy. Until it’s not.

The exterminators gang up on Fun Ghoul. A scream breaks out across the firefight, and Party Poison’s attention shifts from the two Dracs in front of them to Fun Ghoul, crumpled on the ground. Shit.

The two exterminators leer down at Fun Ghoul, who spits up blood.

Party Poison isn’t thinking. They shoot down the two Dracs in front of them and start running. They see the exterminators raise their guns, watch them laugh as Fun Ghoul offers explicatives. They watch as they aim their guns straight at his head.

They fire their gun in quick succession. With a few more blasts than necessary, they shoot at the exterminators as they slide into the scene.

They jump on top of Ghoul, tackling him as they try to shield his body. The exterminators fall to the ground, but not before shots are fired from their falling guns. Lasers scorch Party Poison’s back, and they feel their breath leave their lips for the last time.

-

_“Again?”_

_They flick at one of the feathers that drift their way. It felt like air, but a bit more solid. Strange._

_“Come on, it’s still not your time.”_

_She huffs, annoyed. Finally, there’s a name to the face they’ve seen. The Phoenix Witch._

_“Still, it’s nice to see what you're becoming. Self sacrificial is the killjoy brand.”_

_She smiles. They can’t see it, but they can feel it._

_“Well, let’s get you back. I don’t think Fun Ghoul would be too pleased to have to burn your body so soon.”_

_She extends Her hand. Their mask rests in Her palm._

_”Again.”_

-

Ghoul shakes them awake. Party Poison springs up, eyes fluttering open. Ghoul takes a deep breath. “Thank fuck.”

“You just took a bullet for him.” Kobra’s voice is quiet. “Many, many bullets.”

“Damn.” Ghoul wipes his bleeding nose. “Can’t say I’ve had that happen before.”

There’s a ghost glimmering behind Fun Ghoul. She gives them a thumbs up, and disappears.

They laugh, soft. “First time for everything.”

Jet Star offers them a hand. “Come on. Let’s get you patched up.”

-

They head out for hair dye. Their roots have been protruding pretty badly. Kobra Kid’s getting pissy because his bleach blond is starting to become a mahogany. They snag Kobra Kid’s bike and start to head towards Tommy’s.

It’s the same routine as always. They’re seventeen now, and they’ve been with Jet, Ghoul, and Kobra for seven months. There’s a mutual trust between everyone, but there’s still something off about Kobra Kid. They trust each other with each other’s life, but Kobra doesn’t seem to be too keen on letting them in.

Maybe they still have more to prove.

There’s a shimmer. A girl with bright pink hair is waving at them, flagging them down. Against their better judgement, Party Poison decides to pull aside. The ghosts haven’t been as chatty as usual, just watching, lurking.

The girl seems surprised when they climb off the bike. They give them a small wave. “Did you need something?”

“Oh? You can see me?”

“Yep.”

“What’s your name? Huh?” She glanced at them up and down. “I’m pretty sure I’ve met everyone with Her Eyes before.”

“I’m Party Poison.” They flick their hair. “Heard of the Fab Four?”

“Ha. Yeah, people talk about you guys all the time.” She sends them a sharp smile. “My name’s Maya, Maya the Psychic.”

“Psychic? Like ‘I can read your mind’ psychic or like 'I can see the future’ psychic?”

“I can see the future.” She leans forward, grinning from ear to ear as her face nearly brushed theirs. They flinch backward, but she doesn’t seem to be offended. “Well, kid, here I am. Don’t you wanna know about your future?”

“Whatcha mean?”

“Ask me a question. You only got one.” 

“And what? You’ll predict my future?”

“Bingo.” She tilts her head, curious. “So, what do you want to know, Sighted One?”

The title throws them off. They wrack their brain, trying to think. What should you ask a psychic ghost? “Well, here’s the one I find fitting, and I hope this don’t offend you, but how do I die?”

Her face slackens. Party Poison wonders if maybe they should’ve picked a different topic, like if they’ll find their soulmate or something tamer. They almost think about retracting their question when she suddenly grabs their shoulders, her face pressed against theirs.

It’s more of a sensation than a true feeling. Shivers rake down their spine as her cold fingers grip their shoulders tightly, and they can feel the ghostly tendrils of claws sink into their skin. It’s a strange sensation, being touched by a creature caught between two planes of existence, and it’s one they hope to never repeat.

“My, my,” she clicks her tongue. Party Poison wants her to let go, desperate to get her to stop touching them, but Poison can’t touch her back, can’t force her off. Her eyes are locked into theirs, and Poison feels strangely paralyzed in her arms. “You’ve got quite the destiny.”

“What- what the hell do you mean?”

“The Phoenix Witch has plans for you, kid.” She pats their face, her hand brushing their cheek. She pushes the bangs away from their eyes, smiling devilishly as she does. “You know what they say- fate isn’t set in stone. Free will reigns all, destiny is only the end of the course of actions you’ll take.”

She lets go of their shoulders. It’s strange, but Poison still feels those claws still digging into their skin. They’ll probably find puncture wounds later. “But you- you’re destiny is written into the fabric of the universe. Your destiny is sold, set, stone. There is no changing the course of your nature, there is no diverting your eventual end. Your destiny is set, and it’s quite the riot.”

“Just get to it!” Poison doesn’t like anything she’s spitting out. “Shut up about destiny.”

“The Witch’ll have my head if I tell too much.” She hums and grabs their hand. Her fingers are cold, and more shudders send them into a spiral of shivers. “So I’ll give you the footnotes. Your death is going to be important. You’re going to die just the way you want, Poison. You’re the catalyst to a fire much bigger than you- you’ll spark the fires of a revolution, a true revolution. You’ll be the domino to lead to the destruction of BLi. And BLi will end, their reign of terror will eventually decline.”

Her finger jabs their chest. “But it all starts with your death.”

Poison swallows. “How do I die?”

“Oh, you’ll find out soon enough.” She moves behind them, her fingers ruffling their hair. “But here’s a hint- you’ll die changing the world.”

Party Poison spins around, so many questions on their tongue. But Maya has disappeared, faded away like the smoke of a long-forgotten fire. Spirits who don’t want to be seen don’t let themselves be seen- she’s probably drifted into another zone.

Party Poison feels their back, rubbing their fingers against their shoulder blades. Blood stains their skin when they pull back. They suck in a deep breath, get back on their bike, and keep driving.

-

On their way home, they run into a patrol of Dracs. The Dracs, however, seem to be preoccupied with something, so Party Poison discards their bike and sneaks up on the patrol.

A child is in one of the Dracs hands. She’s kicking and screaming, desperate to be let go. She looks absolutely enraged. The Dracs seem to be at a total loss on how to calm her. It’s a funny sight, until their eyes drift towards the two killjoys bodies on the ground. 

They do what they do best. They fight.

Shots ring out. Party Poison fights off the Dracs, shooting down five of them before anyone can react. They rush straight into the patrol, heading right towards the girl. The Dracs try to run off, which is a stupid move. They shoot them in the back, and the kid and the Drac go sprawling into the ground.

They pick up the girl, keeping her close to their chest. “I know this is a bad situation, but I need you to trust me, kid.”

She stops screaming. Hopefully, she sees that they’re honest, that they’re not like the Dracs trying to kidnap her. She wraps her arms around their neck. 

Party Poison doesn’t waste time with the other Dracs. They spin around, heading straight towards their bike, ducking for cover behind the BLi vans. A little further, and they’ll be home clear.

The Dracs tumble after them. They shoot off a few shots but otherwise aren’t too concerned. It’s clear this patrol doesn’t have an exterminator leader, which means they’re all stupid as shit without orders to follow.

Something flies past their shoulder. It’s olive green, oddly textured, and probably the size of what Poison guesses an apple would be. Wait.

“Shit!” Poison snatched it off the ground and threw it as hard as they could. “Grenade!”

The grenade doesn’t make it very far. There’s not much time before it detonates so Poison cradles the girl in their arms and falls to the ground, covering her with their entire body.

Dracs are sent scrambling as the grenade detonates. A wave of fire bursts as an explosion makes Poison’s ears ring. Fires lick their back, scald their skin they can feel their flesh melting off, but they just hold her tight and squeeze their eyes shuts

The fire passes. Poison goes limp, falling off the girl onto their side. They try to look back, and it seems all the Dracs have been taken out by that bomb. Poison takes a deep breath. “Hey, girl.”

She glances at them. Her eyes are glassy, and she’s sniffling. “Hey, where are all the Dracs?”

“Dead.” The sound of her voice and the harshness of that word makes Poison’s blood grow cold despite the white hot pain searing into their back. 

“Okay.” They take a few deep breaths. “Thank you.”

A glimmer catches their attention as their vision starts to spin. The two killjoys are standing over them, leering like holy angels as the sun casts a strange glow about their heads. They’re two women, each with neon hair.

“Thank you.” One of them is crying. “Thank you for saving her.”

“Please.” A hand touches theirs, grabs it tight. The sensation is cold, and they flinch despite craving the ice. “Please, protect her. She’s important. Please, saints protect her.”

The two break off, almost sounding like they’re praying. Party Poison watches as they dissolve into sobs, quiet mur outs of meaningless words. They watch them until their lights begin to fade and their skin turns cold.

-

_“You found her.”_

_They glance up at Her. The rays of sun make Her appear strange, out of place in Her dark garb. She tilts Her head._

_“A bit sooner than expected. Well done.”_

_Her words are clipped. Feathers spin around them, and they resist the urge to try and grab them, like a child wanting to pop all the bubbles their friend keeps blowing._

_“Now, I keep letting you have all these second chances for a reason. She’s the reason.”_

_They’re thinking about Maya’s words._

_“You must protect her. She’s got a destiny just as strong as yours. Do whatever it takes to keep her safe and away from BLi’s hands. Understand?”_

_They nod. She offers out Her hand._

_“Go on, fulfill your destiny.”_

-

Sobbing reaches their ears. They wake up and roll on their side. Everything aches, but nothing burns. Nice.

They glance at the source of the crying. The girl is crying, raising her fists and hitting the legs of another person. Poison immediately becomes alert at the sight.

Two kids, one with pink hair and the other turquoise, give them a smile.

“Leave them alone!” The girl cries.

“What’s happening?” Poison asks. The girl shrieks in joy and rushes over to them, fat tears rolling down her cheeks.

“They tried to hurt you! I told them you were sleeping but they wouldn’t leave.”

The kid with pink hair shrugs. “We thought you were dead so we’re going to loot your body.”

“Yeah, Sorry. Glad you’re not dead!”

Vamos and Vaya are their names. “Do you need a ride home? You look pretty… charred.”

They think about the proposition. “Do you have a radio? I’d like to make a call.”

-

The Fab Four adopts the Girl, who insists on being called the Girl. She hasn’t figured out a better name for herself yet, and until then, she likes the Girl.

They open her into their group, raising her like a little sister. Party Poison was a little distant, at first. She’s so frail and tiny. Party Poison’s been slaughtering for as long as they can remember- they’ve killed kids her age. They can’t trust themself around her.

But she doesn’t know they’ve killed. She just sees them as the person who saved her, and she latches on tight. So Party Poison decides to take a chance, that maybe, just maybe, they won’t destroy the first good thing to come in their life.

(Is it selfish to pretend that they’re not that monster, that they’d never hurt a little girl like her?)

-

Dr. D hates the Girl. He doesn’t like the idea of four teenagers caring for a young child. “You all have destinies much more important than her. You have way too much potential to waste on her.”

Party Poison only responded with that they’re keeping her, and that there’s no force from heaven or hell that will be able to pry her away from them. It’s funny, because Poison knows that the Girl is a key to all their destinies. 

The doctor remains resigned. “If you want to squander your talent, I suppose I won’t stop you.”

Still, he seems to be annoyed every time they bring her over. Party Poison can’t find it in themself to care. The doc isn’t a perfect person- far from it. He only cares about furthering the battle against BLi, and he won’t hesitate to get rid of anything in his way. He’s not perfect, but neither is Party Poison. Everyone in the desert operates in areas of grey.

It’s hard to understand, that things aren’t all black and white like BLi preached. The good guys and bad guys aren’t completely defined, that all people have some sort of inherently bad traits, and good traits. But Poison learns that not all killjoys are heroes, and not all of BLi is completely evil.

Dr. D isn’t perfect. But neither is Party Poison.

-

They try desperately hard to clean up their act around their new crew and the Girl. They need to be a good role model, they need to step up to the title of “hero” that everyone keeps calling them. The desert had become enamoured with their siren songs of revolutions, but still, no one was willing to do the work.

It’s not an every man for himself situation. The desert is very much a community, and everyone is connected. There's a sense of unity between everyone, and it is a society. BLi tries to paint them all as loners, apathetic assholes who only want to destroy and cause chaos. But that's not true in the slightest.

The desert is full of good people. They’re all just too afraid to step up, to rise against their oppressors.

Party Poison takes the mic from Dr. D’s hand and tries to talk sense into them. If they could just see the power that each individual holds, that they hold as a unit, they would realise that their community is strong enough to defeat BLi.

So they become a messiah, or a saviour, or whatever else the desert wants to nickname them as. They take that title and they try to inspire their peers into a succession, into realising their full potential. 

They can’t do that, though, if everyone thinks they’re crazy.

So they try to tamp down their mood swings. They try so desperately hard to just act normal, to pretend that their brain chemistry isn’t all fucked up. They try to hide their intensive paranoia and unbridled energy and manic narcissism during periods of mania, and they try to force themself out of bed and ignore the soul sucking melancholy that threatens to kill them in their depressive lows.

They need to be perfect. They need to be a good role model, for the Girl, for the people who see them as a hero, an inspiration. They need to be better.

They stop talking to the ghosts. They don’t need people thinking that they’re insane when there's so many other factors they don’t have control over. 

It’s hard. The ghosts tug at their sleeves, trying to get them to listen, to hear what they have to say. They desperately want to talk, to speak to someone who can finally see them and listen and talk to them, and it fucking breaks their heart every time they ignore those resless spirits, trapped in this hellish purgatory through no fault of their own.

They can’t be seen as crazy, though. They can’t let their crew members find them untrustworthy, undeserving of being in their group. They can’t be seen as broken, as a faulty piece in their machine that needs to get replaced. They need a hero, and Party Poison is going to become one.

-

The spirits are becoming restless with them. They won’t leave them alone.

Every night when they close their eyes, the spirits follow them. They scream in agony, begging for them to listen to their sob stories, to pay them any sort of attention. It's been years for so many of them since they’ve spoken to a soul that will listen. They need them.

They curse Party Poison’s apathy. They call them names, they claw at them like Maya did. They leave scars that heal but are hard to explain. Their ghoulish talons pierce through their skin and into their bones, leaving them perpetually cold. The spirits are crying, desperate for attention.

Party Poison just squeezes their eyes tighter.

-

Party Poison’s paranoia is beginning to peak. They can feel all the expectant eyes on them, the eyes of Kobra Kid and Jet Star and Fun Ghoul and the Girl. They can feel their watchful gaze, their ever present eyes piercing their skin.

They can feel the eyes of the thousands and thousands of killjoys, watching their every move, waiting for the slightest falter. They’re like ravenous wolves, waiting for a hint of weakness before they lunge at their throat. It feels like all these eyes are constantly on them, even when they try to sleep in the comfort of their own diner.

Party Poison paces around the diner area, between tables and booths. They know their friends are conspiring against them. It’s obvious, the way their eyes are always on them. They know they’re faulty and about to crack. They’re going to finish the job themselves. 

They spend nights sleepless. They pace around and around until the sun comes up. Their friends can’t hurt them, though. They’re untouchable. They can try their worst, but they know that even the WItch couldn’t smite them if She tried. 

They leave, frequently. They snatch Kobra Kid’s bike and they drive for hours and hours. They sneak into Hot Chimp and Newsagogo’s club, they drown themself in alcohol to try and get rid of the thrum of anxiety in their limbs, and they lure anyone who seems like they could provide a bit of comfort into the beds in the back of the club.

They quickly begin to drop that habit. The desert people are after them, they know. They can’t lie with anyone anymore, not when in that moment of weakness, they could take advantage of them and figure out just how much their brain has cracked.

Everything’s fine.

-

Ghosts scream at them. Their eyes pierce their skin, and every moment they feel ice down their spine. They can’t acknowledge them, they can’t talk to them. They need to be perfect, because they are perfect, because they’re better than god, but these desert people and these ghosts will cover them in gasoline and light them up if they think there’s even a hint of something wrong with them.

They retreat, further and further into their room. They need to keep the ghosts out, keep all those eyes off their skin. It’s like bugs are crawling, but from within. And they know those aren’t bugs- they’re the gazes of everyone in the desert, waiting for them to crack.

They stay vigilant as they lock themself in their room. They have to keep out the eyes, but pairs of bodiless eyes keep following them around.

They try to get rid of the ghosts, but they just keep screaming and screaming and it’s getting harder every day not to scream back.

-

“Party Poison? Hey, come on man. Open up.”

It’s Ghoul. Party Poison can barely make out his voice among all the screaming. There’s hands all around their throat, begging them to just listen, listen, listen. Pay attention, attention, attention.

“Dude, it’s been, like, days. You need to come out. Aren’t you, like, hungry?”

Hunger is weakness. If they see weakness, they’ll exploit it. They’re waiting for them out there. They’re waiting for them to come out so they can finally take them down. “You’re not fooling me!”

“Huh?”

“I know what you’re planning!” A piercing scream makes their ears ring. They slip and knock against a shelf, knocking over their collection of bottle caps the Girl and them have been working hard on. They all tumble to the floor, and Party Poison follows suit.

Tears are streaming down their cheeks and they have no idea why. Shit, they need to keep calm. They need to keep sane.

“Poison! Hey! Are you alright!”

Poison doesn’t answer. They can’t tell the difference between the voices anymore. It’s just screaming, screaming, screaming. 

“Poison!” A girl in a pink tutu screams.

“Poison!” A boy with a mohawk and twenty facial piercings wails.

“Poison!” A woman with long hair and a bloodied wedding dress shrieks.

“Poison!” A man missing an eye shouts.

“Shut up,” Poison moans, clutching their ears. It doesn’t block out their screams, it never blocks it out.

“Poison!” A little girl with pigtails sobs.

“Poison!” A person in a hospital gown howls.

“Poison!” A boy dressed in neons bawls.

“Poison!”

There’s a crack, like wood splintering. Poison screams, and it has come to their attention that they’ve been muttering to themself this entire time. They scream, and all the ghosts haunting them begin to scream in unison, and Poison whips out their gun and starts shooting.

The lasers pierce through the ghosts harmlessly.

Arms wrap around their body. Poison keeps screaming, tears dripping down their face. This is it, they’re finally coming to get rid of them, they just proved they’re insane and untrustworthy. 

“Poison, please, listen.”

The gun is snatched from their hands. Poison keeps kicking, keeps moving, keeps squirming. The arms are strong, though, and Poison is beginning to tire themself out.

“Poison, hey! Calm down!”

“You’re trying to kill me!” they squawk. “Don’t kill me! I’m not insane! I swear! Please, give me another chance!”

“What?”

“We don’t want to kill you!”

“Shut up!” they stop squirming, but they squeeze their eyes shut and won’t look at the others. They’re tired of all these eyes, all these ghosts. “Just leave! Don’t do this!”

“Poison, please, look at me.”

The voice is soft. Poison keeps their eyes tightly shut.

“Come on, please. We don’t want to hurt you. You don’t want to hurt us. Please, look at me.”

“You do want to kill me. I know it.”

“Look me in the eyes. See for yourself. Do I look like I want to kill you?”

Eyes. Eyes. Eyes.

“Yes!”

“Just look. Come on, take a few breaths. In, out.”

Poison struggles for a bit, but the exaggerated sounds of breathing start to lull them. They keep their eyes shut, but after a few moments, they start to follow the example. In, out. In, out.

“Great job!” It’s genuine. “You’re doing great.”

They keep breathing. In, out. In, out.

“Can you open your eyes?”

A few more breaths.

Slowly, they open their eyes.

Kobra Kid is kneeling in front of them. His eyes are tired, his expression sad. Jet Star’s arms are wrapped around them, and they’re on their knees, sitting on the floor. They don’t remember how they got there. Ghoul is hovering off to the side.

“Hey.” It’s soft. Kobra Kid gives them a soft, unreadable expression. “Hey, everything’s fine now.”

Everything’s fine.

“We don’t wanna hurt you. We never have, we never will.” Kobra slowly extends his hand. He lifts up a pinky. “I promise.”

Poison starts sobbing. They just dissolve into sobs. Jet Star squeezes just a bit, just a little, and Party Poison buries their face in his arms, sobbing wildly. They haven’t had water in days, and they can barely cry, but it still feels good.

“I’m sorry,” is all they can choke out.

-

It takes a long, long time for Party Poison to finally, completely, calm down. After sobbing wildly for a couple of hours, they eventually sort of pass out. Eighteen hours after that and they’re feeling pretty good, despite the dehydration and the slight malnutrition and the nervous breakdown they’re pretty sure they just had.

It was so, so stupid of them. They’d never hurt them. None of their friends would ever hurt them or cast them away. And their friends make sure to drive that lesson home.

“I’m so, so sorry.” Poison just rubs their face. “I’m so sorry.”

“God, we’re the ones who are sorry. We didn’t know all this work was putting so much pressure on you.” Jet Star doesn’t give them a look of pity, something they’re infinitely grateful for. He just gives them a sad look. “We’re sorry we weren’t there for you. We’ll always be here for you next time. And any time.”

“You don’t have to be perfect around us.” Fun Ghoul sighs. “You know damn well none of us are perfect, either. You don’t have to hide all your ugly parts.”

“Yeah. I mean, there’s something wrong will all of us.” Kobra pushes the aviators off his head. “I mean, I’ve got severe depression and anger issues. Ghoul’s… Ghoul. Jet Star’s got PTSD. It’s okay.”

Party Poison takes a look around the room. Eyes stare back at them, but they’re honest. They’re caring. Poison starts crying again.

-

They start talking to the ghosts again. They feel awful for abandoning them. Still, they try not to talk to them in front of the rest of his crew. It’s kind of weird, and also weirdly private.

They keep the conversations in their room. A ghost named Neon Avenger teaches them how to braid hair. Another teaches them a couple of pre-war songs. The ghosts began to calm down, excited to have someone listening to them again.

“Wow, what an asshole,” Party Poison preens, splashing pink nail polish on their middle finger as the girl in a tutu prattles about the guy who killed her.

“I know! I can’t believe I fell in love with him! And then he goes and stabs me in the back for a couple of Power Pup cans! I mean, I’d get it if it was for something a bit more extravagant, but Power Pup? God!”

“Absolute bastard,” Party Poison agrees. “If I see him, I’ll make sure to send him to hell for you, honey.”

It’s so, so much easier now. 

-

Poison is driving them towards a meeting point with some of the Youngbloods. They’re… a little lost. They have no idea where this “Paradise Hotel” is. But no one says anything as they drive, so they hope it’s in the right direction.

Kobra yanks on their jacket, and that’s when they know it's time for a bathroom break. They’ve been on the road for hours now. Jet hasn’t said a single word, Poison’s been focused on the radio, the Girl is folding origami and watching her siblings, and Kobra Kid and Fun Ghoul were playing poker (Ghoul was losing, badly).

They slam on the breaks and everyone begins to pile out. Jet Star loafs around the hood of the car, checking the motor. The Girl stays inside the car, trying to draw a couple of pictures. Ghoul and Kobra are taking a piss, and Poison can hear the sounds of a bet they don’t want to be a part of take place.

A ghost glimmers in the sunlight a few feet away. Poison grins and waves at them. It’s an old man, one who looks strangely familiar. He glances at them and gives a small smile.

“Hello,” he greets. He’s faded out, nearly completely translucent. 

“Hi! I was wondering if you could give me directions?”

“No problem. Where ya headed?”

“Paradise Hotel?”

“Ah, no problem.” He points almost completely behind them, a little to the east. “It’s that way, zone four. You can follow Route Guano until it dips into Dreams Boulevard.”

Fuck, they've been driving in the wrong direction this whole time. “Oh, man, thank you so much.”

“Good luck, kid.”

Poison sprints back to the car. They can hear Kobra gloating, and Poison tries to block it out. Jet Star slips into the passenger seat next to them, and they can feel his eyes linger on them for a few moments before he cranks up the radio. “Come on, Ghoul, or we’re gonna leave you at a gas station again!”

“Wait! Fuck!”

Ghoul clambers into the back seat, effectively tackling Kobra Kid. Party Poison laughs as Kobra Kid decks him right back, and they slam on the accelerator. The Girl gets squished between the two as they play fight, and she just sighs dramatically.

-

The ghosts are screaming again. Party Poison squeezes their eyes shut, trying to ignore them. They claw at them, desperate for attention.

Sometimes it happens. Sometimes the ghosts become restless, through no fault of Party Poison. They want to help them, desperately, but these souls are so disconnected from the planes of existence that there’s no soothing word they can offer.

They scream and cry and scratch. Poison doesn’t sleep much during times like this, which really fucking sucks, because they’re feeling at their baseline now. Not manically up all night or sleeping for days.

They slip out of bed, offer a few words of condolences that the ghosts won’t understand, and stumble down the hallway.

The ghosts whimper, but most don’t follow. They just watch, eyes hollow, mouths open, sobs choking out their words. Communication attempts just never work when they’re like this.

Party Poison slips into one of the booths in the diner. They’re not really sure what to do- not enough food at the moment for a late night snack. But, Kobra Kid does have those expired peaches hidden away in a spot he thinks no one noticed. Hm.

There’s a couple of heavy footfalls that follow. They’re purposeful, meant to be loud to not alarm them. They appreciate it.

Jet Star walks straight towards Party Poison. There’s something akin to determination in his face. Party Poison thinks about that drive in the desert, and wonders how much Jet Star knows. Or, how much he sees.

Jet Star slips across from them. “You alright?”

“Are you?” Poison leans their face in their hand, elbow propped on the table. “You’re the guy who sleeps like a rock through the night. I’ve never even heard you get up to piss before.”

Jet laughs. “Maybe I’m just more careful and considerate than other people.” He gives a pointed glare towards Ghoul’s closet. Poison smiles, quietly.

“But,” Jet begins. “I’m fine. I was just thinking about a couple things.”

“Like…?”

“So what are you doing awake?”

Poison’s eyes narrow. “Can’t sleep. What were you thinking about?”

“Can’t sleep.” Jet Star echoes. He hums. “At night, do you feel things scratch at your throat? Like you’re being strangled? But there’s no one there?”

Poison stiffens. They’re on alert, and Jet seems to notice they’re on the defense. “Can’t say I have.”

“Hm.” Jet Star sighs. There’s a look in his eyes, that he has theories he needs to prove and questions to ask. “I know you believe in the Phoenix Witch.”

“Of course. There had to be a god, because why else would the universe be so dead set on fucking me over?” They omit the fact that they’ve met Her, more than once.

Jet smiles at that. “They say that the spirits She can’t bring over into the afterlife, be it because their souls are trapped in Drac masks when they pass or because no one put in something of theirs in the mailbox to help the Witch guide them home, that those spirits linger in this life.” There’s a strange, strange look in his eyes. “Ghosts that lurk about the desert, forever condemned until someone comes and saves them, breaks them from their chains.”

Poison can feel something cold drip down their spine. Ghosts lurk within the diner as they speak. A couple of them are watching the exchange, tears still streaming down their face. 

“It’s a fairy tale,” Poison finally mutters. “Ghosts.” Unconsciously, they flip up the collar of the jacket they were sleeping in. There’s scars all along their neck from the talons of the deceased.

“You can see them.”

“See what?”

“The ghosts.”

Party Poison freezes. In that split second, they have a choice- deny or admit. Immediately, they decide. “What? Dude, ghosts don’t exist.”

“My mama could see them, too.” Jet doesn’t dare look at Party Poison, doesn’t dare make any eye contact, because he knows those eyes, knows exactly what they look like. “You have the Eyes.”

“What?”

“My mama had them, too. Could see the souls of those damned by the Witch. Some say it was a blessing from Her, others say it’s a curse.” 

Party Poison remains silent. Jet Star doesn’t talk much about his family, about his past crews. They’ve only learned a few things about them because he’s accidentally let it slip. They know he had a sister, two moms, and two previous crews. He’s the only survivor. They listen, because they think that’s what they’re supposed to do.

“Both my moms die pretty young. I was about eight. But I remember those nights my mama would lie awake, whispering to the ghosts. I remember how she would talk to my mom about them, how they scream and claw at her, how they would grip her throat tight. They weren’t malicious, just desperate for attention.”

Jet Star kicks the ground, humming. “As a kid, I believed every word she said. Of course I believed in ghosts. But then I started getting older, and magic seemed unrealistic and I started to see different ghosts.”

Jet Star glances up. Their eyes meet. Poison wonders about his mama, who has Eyes like them. “But I believe in ghosts again. I believe in the Phoenix Witch and the Sighted. And I know you can see them.”

Poison wonders. Do they have the same eyes? They don’t know what Show Pony’s eyes look like- what do their own eyes even look like? It feels like years since they’ve seen a mirror.

The image of them gripping their sink at sixteen, a pill bottle next to their white knuckles as they stare down their reflection. The little girl, who watches with impassive eyes as they swallow so many…

“I guess what I’m trying to say,” Jet Star finally settles on, reaching out to Poison’s hand. He gently sets his palm over their knuckles, “is that I will always believe everything you say. I will always be willing to listen. And if you want to talk about the ghosts that keep haunting you, well, I’d be happy to spend all day listening.”

There’s a couple of killjoys sitting in a booth by them. They’re watching this scene, a sad look on their face. There’s only two, just watching. They’re staring at them, but their eyes are on Jet Star mostly, soft.

Party Poison swallows, hard. “Thank you.”

Jet Star squeezes their hands. “No problem.”

“Describe some of your crew members to me.” They lick their lips. “Please.”

Jet Star hesitates. Poison hates to bring back bad memories, but they need to know. They need to know if what they’re seeing is real.

Jet Star goes down a list, first crew to second. Party Poison listens to his words, trying to find a description that matches the killjoys in the booth next to them. They’re also listening, the two girl killjoys, and Poison watches for a reaction.

Finally, Jet Star says their names. The two ghosts jump up, smiling at the descriptions Jet gives. They’re a couple, and Poison smiles as he prattles over how in love they were.

Party Poison looks at the two girls. They look at them right back, but they don’t say anything. They just smile, and one of them places a hand on Jet Star’s shoulder, fondly.

Party Poison smiles. 

-

The two girls tell them of a place out west, where some of their possessions reside. This was the point in time where Jet Star didn’t believe in the Witch and thus didn’t send their possession in the mailbox.

Poison drives and drives. 

It’s Tommy Chow Mein’s shop they find. It’s not shocking- most of the things in there once belonged to someone who is now likely rotting in the sand or a brain dead Drac.

They snoop around, and the two girls have followed them. The girls coo at all the items, pointing out a couple that remind them of other killjoys, reminiscing with names they recognise from Jet Star. Eventually, they point them in the direction of the two things they could offer to the Witch.

A pair of plastic rings with fake green jewels.

Party Poison starts crying at the sight of the rings. It’s an old, pre-wars custom that they learned about in their time in the desert, a tradition of love that managed to survive years of war and the destruction and rebuilding of society.

Tommy Chow Mein stares at their tear stained face as they place the items on the counter. He stares at the pair of rings, at the carbons in their hands.

Tommy’s not known for generosity. He’s a staunch capitalist, though while many would call him greedy, he’s really not. He’s just trying to survive like everyone else.

He must know something. He must know who those rings belong to. He pushes the rings back at them, and goes back to reading his magazine without a word.

-

They slip the rings into the mailbox.

“Thank you,” one of them whispers. The other kisses their cheek.

“Tell Jet Star we love him.”

Party Poison promises. The girls shoo them off then. “You’re staying here?”

“We’ll wait here until the Witch arrives.” She smiles. “We’ve waited longer.”

Poison nods.

They hop on Kobra’s motorcycle and drive off.

-

(The next time they drive by the mailbox, the two girls have disappeared. Party Poison likes to think the Witch was finally able to carry them off into the life they deserved.)

-

Sometimes ghosts beg them to find their lost possessions. Party Poison tries their damnedest to answer the call of the spectres, but they can’t always provide. Tommy Chow Mein usually looks the other way, and Poison wonders if maybe he has Her Eyes, too.

They try to help all the souls they come across, but some are content wandering the earth until the day of reckoning. But it’s not enough.

Ghosts scream at them, scratch at them, wail and sob and beg for their help. But they can’t help these ghosts, who are consumed so horribly in their grief that they don’t even notice Party Poison is trying to listen and answer their prayers.

How could the Phoenix Witch just abandon these souls? How could She deny them the right to a peaceful afterlife when they were all met with such tragic and violent ends?

Will She deny them, too? When their end comes reeling, will She deny them the rest they rightfully earned?

It’s a thought that keeps them up some nights. The idea that once She’s done toying with them, She’ll just abandon them in this world to remain invisible. It’s a terrible fear, to be rendered helpless and mute when they’ve been singing songs of rebellion and worming their way in the hearts of the people.

She’s not completely malicious, though. She can’t be.

Right?

-

(The souls of the damned scream otherwise).

-

Party Poison drives the Girl to the mailbox. The sun is beginning to set, which means more ghosts are going to come and lurk about. They say that night bridges the gap between the living and the dead, and Poison often wonders how true that observation may be.

It’s habitual to drive the Girl to the mailbox at least every month. Usually it’s Jet Star who does it- everyone else’s views on religion are a bit skewed. Fun Ghoul believes in magic but refuses to give it a name. Kobra Kid doesn’t believe in Her at all. Jet Star believes in Her, but is a bit doubtful about Destroya’s divinity. Party Poison believes in the existence of all these deities and magic, but finds it difficult to believe in them when there are so many spirits still lurking about.

But Jet Star is busy hanging out with Cherri Cola, trying to find a way to garden. The Girl wrote her monthly letter, and it’s up to Party Posion to deliver it.

They blare Kesha as they zoom through the zones. Party Poison knows this girl is important, that she’s going to do great things, but they want her to have a fun childhood, too. She’s something important, yeah, but right now? She’s a five year old who misses her mom.

They skid to a stop just in front of the mailbox. Party Poison gets out with the Girl, scratching absently.

They drop the car keys.

The Phoenix Witch stands but a few feet away. There’s a killjoy right next to Her, someone they recognise a bit. He was frequent at Bullets, but they never caught a name.

They both glance over at them. She’s clutching his mask in Her hands, and Her voice cuts off as they look at them. The Girl doesn’t even notice anything, just saunters up to the mailbox with her letter and her chest puffed.

“This is rather a private moment,” the Witch states, annoyed. “Would you mind looking away while I deliver their soul real quick?”

Party Poison spins on their heels. They hear a few murmurs, but they try to block it out. It feels oddly personal to walk in on someone whose soul is being saved. They keep their eyes on the desert sunset, watching as pinks fade away to odd colours of the night.

The murmurs stop.

Hesitantly, Poison glances back. The Witch is leaning on the mailbox, Her elbows resting on the top. She’s watching them expectantly, and while Her face is shrouded in a mask, they can almost feel the arch of Her brow.

“Do you want something?” She asks.

Party Poison isn’t sure what to say. “Doesn’t everyone?”

She smiles at that. “Oh, everybody does.”

It’s a strange moment in time. They’ve only met before under the veil of Death, when She was allowing them chance after chance. Seeing Her while they are breathing, while their heart is pumping and blood is still circulating and their lungs are still pushing and their pulse is still thrumming- it’s odd. It’s unnatural.

“Why…” they don’t know how to frame this question. “Why are there so many ghosts? Why’d you let me see them?”

“Spirits are fickle things. They don’t always like to be guided places. Unless I have an anchor, I can’t bring them home.” She hums. “As for why you can see them? It’s a gift.”

“But why?”

“A gift, in exchange for your upcoming destiny.”

Party Poison doesn’t like these words or any of their implications. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with my destiny? Why’d you make me Sighted in exchange?”

She points behind them. “You have listeners.”

They glance. The Girl is watching, curious. There’s a few ghosts that lurk by, watching the conversation. 

They glance back at the Witch, but She has disappeared.

Poison sighs and moves to ruffle the Girl’s hair. “Ready to go home?”

“Were you talking to Her?” She watches them with her big, big eyes. “Jet says you can talk to ghosts. Can you talk to the Witch?”

“When She wants to be seen.”

“Does my mom like all the letters I give her?”

Poison swallows, hard. “She loves them, kid. She misses you, lots.”

She hugs their leg. The white lie burns in their throat, but they know it’s not a real lie. Her mother would love those letters, probably does.

“C’mon, kid.” They take one last look at the mailbox. “Let’s go home.”

-

Firefights begin to weigh heavier and heavier tolls. They beat down the Dracs, but everytime, they see the ghosts of those who weren’t so lucky. Those ghosts curse them, follow them around, scream at them for letting them die.

Party Poison tries to collect the items of each person and send them to the Witch. They want them all to have a happy afterlife, a nice time after a violent end. They snatch everything they can off their corpses and race to the mailbox as quick as they can.

Fun Ghoul rolls his eyes at them every time. On particularly bad days, when the ghosts won’t stop screaming, it’s Jet Star who offers them a ride to the mailbox. It’s Jet Star they sometimes cry into a shoulder with.

Kobra Kid notices their franticness, notices their obsession with the Witch and the material possessions of others. He doesn’t say a word, even when he slips them a pair of good luck beads on the day that’s supposed to be their birthday, according to a long forgotten file. Coincidence?

The ghosts don’t disappear. There are some much older than them, or as old as them, who died long before they could help them. There are no possessions to be found, no saving grace. They have been forgotten by their living peers, and they make certain the only connection they have to the living won’t forget them.

-

Party Poison squeezes their eyes shut.

They squeeze the trigger of their gun.

They ignore the screams of the damned, the claws that scratch at their throats and arms.

They ignore the Phoenix Witch, who watches over the battlefields with an odd detachment, whose presence looms like the shadow of the night. 

They keep their eyes tightly shut.

-

Party Poison feels like they’re on the verge, but they don’t know what, exactly. They feel like a splitting, frayed end, desperate to snap. It’s a vice that grips around their heart, making them on edge.

The ghosts are screaming at them, cursing them. They claw at their arms, and Poison slips out from their bed, desperate to shake the screaming. Jet Star is just a few steps away, if they want to talk about it, but they can’t.

Because Poison knows these ghosts. They know the names like the back of their hand, their faces that they can recall with their eyes closed. They know these people, know what their blood looks like, glittering on the grains of sand in the afternoon sun. They know what their corpses looked like, how much blood gushed when they received that shot to the head or heart or lung or wherever.

They know these corpses because these are the very same ones they made.

They all scream at them, vile curses and raging wails as they spit on them, as their frustration and fire threatens to burn them all at their climax. They have long ago stopped trying to make peace with these ghosts, because these particular spirits are lusting after vengeance in the only way they know how.

They cry and shriek and moan and beg. They scream their wretched curses at them, for snatching away their lives so soon, for being the heartless killer they once had been. They follow them around, their talons spilling their blood in their pursuit to even the score.

They can not kill, can not maim. They have little power, stuck between planes of reality, but they have some. So they use that power to inflict bodily harm, to scream so loud their ears start to ring.

Poison can’t shake them, can never shake them.

They can’t talk to Jet Star, can’t explain why these ghosts loathe them so much. They can’t explain this curse, this frenzy of hatred that’s aimed at them. They can’t explain why it’s well deserved.

They steal Kobra Kid’s bike, desperate to try and get rid of all those voices. They speed off into the desert, flying by at speeds they shouldn’t dare slip into at night, when it's easy to miss things that may obstruct your path.

The ghosts only follow, shrieking and bawling and howling like crazed wolves. Poison wants to scream back- why not? There’s not a soul in sight except for those wishing they could kill the only living creature for miles.

Party Poison screams, wildly and vicariously, their vocal chords burning at the noise. Immediately, the chorus of shrieks grows tenfold, and Poison finds themself the only attendant to a symphony of sorrow.

Poison squeezes their eyes shut. They don’t want to see those flickering spirits with grim eyes and a hatred brimming. They don’t want to see those blood stained wounds, how grey they have become in the time since they last killed them. They don’t want to see those corpses anymore.

In that frenzy of fear, in those moments of utter blackness when they shut their eyes, it’s a mistake.

Suddenly, the ground beneath them disappears.

Poison doesn’t open their eyes. The spirits cheer, screams of joy as they go tumbling down a ravine far too deep for any man to survive. Party Poison doesn’t scream or make a single noise as they fall, just shuts their eyes and clamps their hands over their ears.

They just want the screaming to stop.

They barely register the pain of their spine snapping in half as they land on a boulder. They barely notice the white hot pain of their skull shattering against the surface of the rock. They don’t notice how their leg juts out at an unnatural angle, that their bones are exposed and are gleaming in the pale moonlight that manages to filter down into the ravine. They don’t notice the blood pooling around them, dripping down the side of the rock in large streams.

They’re a bit too dead to notice.

-

(The screaming has stopped, at least.)

-

_“Must you keep mucking up my plans?”_

_She stands before them, arms crossed, appearing disappointed. Feathers drift about, but they pay them no mind as they catch their weary reflection in the gleam of Her mask._

_“And to die so stupidly, too. Running away from the very gift I gave you. How rude.”_

_“Why?” Poison barely even recognizes their voice. “Why would you do this to me?”_

_“I gifted you,” She stated simply. “Remembering, seeing- it is a gift.”_

_“It’s a curse.”_

_“You’re simply ungrateful.” She flicks their forehead and they wince. “There are thousands of others who wish to have this same ability.”_

_“Then why give it to me?”_

_“It’s a gift,” She repeats, clearly annoyed. “A gift in exchange for your destiny.”_

_“It’s not a gift. Take it back.”_

_“It’s also here to humble you.” She tilts Her head. “To remind you of your past and current sins.”_

_“You think I don’t remember them? You think I can’t understand all the bloodshed and carnage I’ve created? I know what I’ve done.”_

_“Because of my gift.”_

_She offers them their mask. They only glare at Her, eyes flashing._

_“Why do you have to gift me, anyway? What’s wrong with my destiny? Why do you feel the need to reimburse me?”_

_“Telling you my plans rather ruins the show.”_

_They think back to Maya. “It’s something important.” But something tragic. They remember the almost pitying gleam in her eyes._

_“Very.” She shoves the mask toward them again. “Something I would ask from no one other than you. Now go on, you need to fulfill it.”_

_Poison carefully takes the mask out of Her hands._

_“Try again. There’s a lot more at stake here than just you.”_

-

They get back up. They try to ignore the screaming of the damned, try to offer them peace and communication whenever they can. It’s not enough, it’ll never be enough, but what is done can not be undone.

Party Poison doesn't like admitting defeat. But sometimes, you’ve got to simply realise that you don’t have the power to change these circumstances.

Party Poison asides themself with that fact. They can't change history.

-

“Oh, you’re a killjoy now, huh?”

It’s a simple mission- into the lobby, out of the lobby. That’s it. They make a meeting with the Underground, with the Youngbloods, make a couple of trades, and then they leave. That’s it.

Donnie’s watching them curiously. He knows their face, even when it’s obscured by a yellow mask. Poison has lost focus on the trade agreements being made- Jet Star quietly begins to fill in the void from Party Poison’s mental absence, likely sensing they’re about to engage with a ghost.

It’s nice, having someone on their side.

“Yeah.” The expression on Donnie’s face is unreadable. “I was able to break free.”

“I’ve been wondering about you.” There’s nothing malicious in his tone. He watches his crew- apparently, Poison had managed to kill one of the Youngbloods in their very, very early years. Donnie was only fifteen.

“I’ve been wondering about you, too.” It’s true. Poison wonders about all the ghosts they don’t see, the faces they remember blindly shooting at, carrying out their orders to exterminate. They know every wrinkle, dimple, smile, scream of their victims, and they often wonder about those who manage not to haunt them physically.

“You broke free, huh?” He’s watching his friends, expression somber. He should be eighteen. Poison tries not to think about that. “You did it.”

“I did.”

“I’m proud.”

Poison’s head snaps up at him. He’s washed out a bit, his jarish purples faded into a lilac. He has a quiet smile on his face, genuine and tired. 

“What?”

“I’m proud,” he repeats, easily. “I mean, I was, you know, pissed when I had died. Obviously, no one wants to die. But I see you now, and I see you then, and all I see was a kid like me on the wrong side of the war. But you figured that out. So I’m proud that you managed to do that, and you managed to become someone important. Good job.”

Poison doesn’t necessarily feel peace with his words. There will never be peace for them, not when there’s hundreds of other ghosts who long to shoot them up like they did to them. But those words still strike a chord in them. “Thank you. I’m sorry you’re still stuck here.”

“Eh. At least I get to watch over my crew, until we can all die together.”

“What do you think, Poison?” 

The Youngblood’s leader is watching them carefully. Poison jolts to attention. He’s clearly waiting for an answer. 

“Sounds great.”

-

They’re at the nest. There’s a rave going on, a celebration of the day the original killjoys died. Party Poison doesn’t know the whole story about them, just that there was a band of five disgruntled killjoys who lead in the Analog Wars and coined the term killjoy in their attempts to take down BLi.

They’re way past dead. One of them was captured and Draced, two of them killed, and two of them escaped, though the whereabouts of the two living is unknown. There’s rumours that the two survivors are Cherri Cola and Dr. D, but until they get a confirmation, Poison thinks of the original killjoys as quite dead.

In any case, the desert takes every opportunity to celebrate and party. So they host a party in honor of the killjoys, which feels strange and vaguely inappropriate given the scope of their mission. DJ Hot Chimp is, of course, DJing. Everyone is invited and encouraged to come.

It’s nice. Poison’s been sipping all the soda they can get their hands on (booze and them don’t mix. It reminds them too much of those drugs, of being unable to control themself) and any snacks they can scrounge. Kobra Kid is playing poker, and from the groans of anger, it sounds like he’s winning. He’s always been super smart at that game, he knows all the math behind it. Party Poison just guesses and hopes for the best.

Fun Ghoul is slamming down shot after shot, trying to drink Newsagogo under the table. There’s cheering besides them, but they’ve only just begun. Fun Ghoul is an absolute lightweight, and Newsagogo is definitely going to win, no contest.

Jet Star is doing arm wrestling with some of the other killjoys. He’s always been stupidly strong, and it’s rather pleasing to watch him continuously win against those with arms even twice the size of his (which is saying something, because Jet Star is by no means scrawny).

Party Poison had just finished telling an elaborate story to a group of young killjoys around the fire. They sung songs about their beginning killjoy adventures, exaggerated a few (a lot) of details, and let the story speak for itself. But the kids have dispersed, and Party Poison finds themself oddly detached from the party scene.

Years ago, when they were sixteen and fresh from the city, this would be a dream. But Poison just sips their soda solemnly as they stare at the ever growing bonfire.

“Hey, kid.”

They glance to their left, unperturbed. They’re used to random voices by now. 

Maya watches them, a smile on her face. 

“What do you want, huh?”

“Want a fortune telling?”

“Another?” They take another sip. “I thought it was a one time thing.”

“You’re a special case, hun.”

They don’t really want one, but if the only way to appease her is to say yes, then they’ll give in to her small demand. Last time sucked ass, but maybe this time will be different.

She carefully grabs their palm, tracing the creases of their palms. She’s quiet for a few moments, just watching, staring. She squeezes their hand and suddenly glances up at them, a smile on her face. “Seems things have changed.”

“What?”

“Not much.” She lets go of their hands. “Your day of reckoning is coming quickly. I suggest you live life to your fullest.”

“Wait, what’s changed? Why?”

“You’re destiny’s changed because you have changed.” She laughs and flicks their nose, gently. “The Witch has made a grave mistake, dabbling in your life so much. She’s altered Her own storyline for you.”

“What’s changed?” they repeat, urgently. “Why is it coming faster?”

“You’re stubborn.” She hums. “It’s not so much a fate or destiny I’m predicting. It’s only the future. It’s not set in stone, but knowing you, it probably is.”

“Stop being so vague!”

“The Witch would have my head if I told you too much. “ She lets her gaze drift to Poison’s friends. She watches them, carefully, and Poison finds themself looking after them, wondering what she sees. “Better hold your friends tight while you can, hun.”

“Why?”

She’s disappeared. Like the smoke of the bonfire, she’d faded into nothing. Poison downs the rest of their drink and crushes the soda can. Man, they hate that ghost. 

-

The screams of the damned keep singing.

Poison only squeezes their eyes ever tighter.

-

“Hey.”

Party Poison glances up. They’ve been wandering around in the Witch’s Garden, a small patch of dirt in zone four that miraculously sprouts anything planted in it. There’s a fucking lemon tree there. Any seeds people can find are always planted in that patch of dirt.

Sometimes they steal Kobra’s bike and head out there. They like to weed out the garden, snagging out any parasites latching on to the nutrients other plants need. It’s mindless work, keeps any screaming out of their head, and is kind of relaxing.

They don’t know how to feel about the Phoenix Witch. She’s cursed them with these Seeing eyes and their apparently terrible fate that managed to get twisted into something else. But they’re alive.

So they weed out Her little garden. Sometimes there’s just nothing better to do.

There’s a girl sitting beside them. She’s staring at a little pepper plant, which has begun to flower. Something about her seems familiar, but in a different sense then the one usually accompanied by the realization they killed them.

“Hey.” Poison keeps their eyes on the weeds they’re pulling. They wait, quietly.

“You know my brother.”

“Huh?” Poison glances back at her. They stare at her a few moments, trying to think. That’s when it all pieces together- her frizzy hair, her brown skin, the shape of her eyes and her jawline…

It’s Jet Star’s sister.

And there’s a new sickening dread pooling in their stomach. Because they know this face, they recognise the blaster wound on her stomach. They know those eyes and those curls not just from Jet Star, but from all those years ago, when they first began to truly, truly see ghosts and they killed those eight kids in that trade.

Her.

“I’m so sorry,” they blurt, tears already threatening to spring from their eyes. She shrugs, quietly reaching out towards the pepper. Her finger pass through.

“Ah, I’ve made peace. Still a jackass.” She sighs. “But, you’ve grown a lot. You seem to be a good friend to my brother. That’s all I ask for.”

Sorrow seeps into their bones. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

“Tommy Chow Mein has a few necklaces that used to be mine.” She hums. “I’ll pick it out for you, and you could give it to Jet Star, and maybe subtly hint that he should go to the mailbox with it.”

Poison thinks about how Jet Star lost faith in the Witch. Was it before or after his sister passed? Did he not send something of hers to the witch because of that lost in trust? Because she died? Or something else?

They glance at the daisies blooming. “I promise.”

The next time they look up, the girl is gone.

-

Tommy Chow Mein shoves some Mardi Gras beads in their hands. Purple, pink, green. Poison grips them tightly like they used to with a rosary. 

He ambled back to his side of the shop, flicking open a magazine. No words pass between them- there usually aren’t.

Tommy has a strange appreciation for them. Poison’s always wondered why. 

(Do they remind him of someone?)

Poison slips out the store.

-

Jet Star is awake.

It’s nearing three am, according to Party Poison’s internal clock. They’ve had the beads tucked in their jacket pocket, trying to figure out the best way to give them over. They haven’t seen his sister since that garden meet, but they have a feeling she’s still watching.

They slip into the diner, and there he is. Sitting in the back booth, staring out the window with a quiet expression. Poison wonders how many nights he spends like this, watching the night sky.

They quietly make their way towards him. He glances at them, but neither make a sound.

Gently, they place the beads on the table. Green, purple, pink.

Jet Star doesn’t say a word.

Poison goes back to their room.

-

The trans am disappears in the middle of the night the next day.

When they see Jet that next morning, he seems lighter.

-

They find Kobra Kid sitting on the roof not long after. Poison likes slipping up to the top. It’s peaceful, staring at all the twinkling stars that manage to pierce through the fucked up atmosphere. 

(Ghosts don’t like heights).

Kobra Kid’s holding a candle, burning and flickering in the night. It casts strange shadows on his face, and his expression is something Party Poison can not place as he stares at the tiny flame.

“Hey.”

Kobra doesn’t seem to notice, or he elects to ignore the greeting. Poison moves towards the edge and quietly sits next to him. They bounce their feet on the aluminium roof long ago rusted by acid rainstorms. 

“What’s with the candle?”

Kobra hums. He moves his eyes from the fire to Party Poison, still keeping that weird expression. “I had an older sibling. They got stolen by BLi when I was eleven.”

Party Poison sombers.

“It’s the anniversary of their disappearance. I always come up here.”

Party Poison gazes at him. There’s something uncanny about the way the light flickers on his face. “What do you think happened to them?”

Kobra watches them back, carefully. “I used to think they were dead, but I have a better theory now.”

“Oh?”

“I think they’re alive. I think they’re becoming everything they want to be. At least, I hope.” He turns his eyes back to the sky. “And I think they’re actually pretty close.”

Poison hums. They’ve never seen a ghost that looks similar to the Kobra Kid. Still, who knows. Genetics are weird.

“That sounds nice.”

They lapse into silence. Poison wonders what ghosts follow him.

-

The Girl turns six.

The gang travels to the marketplace for her to pick out a gift. They’ve managed to scrounge up a bit of carbons, so instead of bartering to get some gifts, they decide to let her pick. She’s old enough.

The Girl is absolutely thrilled. She’s bustling around the market, peering into every stall she sees, trying to figure out what she wants most.

It’s fun, watching her scramble around, drooling over item after item only to become enamoured with something shinier.

“Care for a card reading?”

Poison glances to the side. A kid with scraggly brown hair and deep blue eyes watches them. In her hand is a deck of cards.

“Go on ahead,” Ghoul states, pushing them towards the booth. “This is just the kind of bullshit you’re into, isn’t it?”

Poison doesn’t want this. They’re sick of talks of destiny and the future, a fate that apparently is pretty terrible. Ghoul just smiles at them and begins to chase after the Girl while Jet and Kobra try to haggle a stallkeeper into handing over his gasoline.

Poison sits in the chair across from the kid. She watches them with narrowed eyes.

“Is there a fee?”

“Not for you.” She shuffles the cards in her deck. They’re hand made, from the way the ink bleeds bit into her hands and the lacking crisp perfection of manufacturing. They watch as she carefully selects three cards.

She sets them in front of them. Quietly, she flips one of them over.

The Phoenix Witch stares back at them.

“Death.” Her voice is breathy. “This is your past. You reek of it.”

She turns the next card over. They can feel the Witch’s hands threatening to rip off their face. “Death… this is now. Bodies pile up behind you, ghosts from the death of the past follow you. Fires of destruction have been set ablaze, and the ashes linger, creating a sooty layer you call your own skin.”

She turns over the next card.

“Death again.” Her voice is hoarse, quiet. “You’re going to die, soon. And when you do, you’ll go out in a blaze of fire and passion. You’re going to destroy everything in your wake as you go out.”

Party Poison stares at those cards. She offers them a sad, pitting look. “It seems your entire destiny revolves around tragedy.”

Party Poison jolts up. They slam the chair back into place and swipe the deck of cards off the table. She remains unperturbed, though looking a little miffed. “I don’t believe in destiny.”

“You’re haunted. Perhaps you see too much, too.” She gives them a strange look. “You have Her Eyes.”

There’s ghosts lingering around. They’re laughing at each other, mocking some of the living. It’s a good day, a beginning rarity these past few months. No screaming, no terrors.

“I don’t believe in Her.”

Poison spins on their boots and walks away, feeling the piercing gaze of the woman and the ghosts.

-

Fights keep breaking out. Ghosts keep screaming.

Party Poison tires. They’re just so tired of all this, of all the constant fighting and sacrificing and killing. They’re tired of starving so the Girl can have some food, they’re tired of murdering Dracs for the sake of a revolution. They’re tired. They want a break.

(Is it selfish to wish that they could start again, to wish for a better life?)

-

Everything goes to shit.

It was a nice day- no ghosts lurking about, shouting in their ears. They were out on a fun drive, just cruising around, and then Korse showed up, and it wasn’t anything unusual.

Until they lined up, one by one, their hands twitching towards their holsters until they fired at each other.

Korse snatches the Girl, ordering his men to only stun the Fab Four. Poison knows he just wants to lure them back into Battery City, doesn’t actually realise just how special and amazing that little girl is, his head far too up his ass in his dreams of revenge against Poison and their defecting ways.

The director wants to make a show of their deaths. She wants to make a big fanfare over how they’ll die. She knows the value of the Girl, and she knows the value of their deaths. 

Poison isn’t thinking about that when they struggle to remain conscious after the paralysing taser. They don’t think about that when they slowly rise from the desert ground, muscles on fire from the electrical pains. They don’t think about that when they take in the appearance of their brothers’ bodies and the sounds of the Girl screaming.

They don’t think, really, when they pull the trigger on their gun and shoot Korse in the back.

Everything gets pretty blurry after that. They don’t remember Korse stalking his way towards them, only remember him suddenly appearing in front of them, and suddenly finishing themself on the ground again, their knees collapsing under their weight.

Korse pushes them on their back. His boot digs into their throat, but Poison keeps their eyes defiant as he fires up his gun. He deliberately removes the safety, and Poison knows that this time, he’s going in for the kill.

“Say hello,” Korse sneers. “To all the poor killjoys you killed before you became one.”

Seven shots blister their body. They’re dead by the second, but Korse likes both the drama and the insurance of the multiple shots.

Unlike their brothers, Poison finds themself falling into another realm.

-

(Ghosts claw at their throat. They feel as if they are drowning, drowning, drowning in the screams of their anguish.)

-

_“Send me back.”_

_A brief pause._

_“To the living? Of course. You have a destiny to fulfill.”_

_“I don’t give a shit about destiny. I have a girl to save.”_

_A scoff. A laugh._

_“You? You’re not going to save her.”_

_“What?”_

_“That’s not your destiny.”_

_She rolls Her eyes. She leans on Her shopping cart, and they can feel Her piercing gaze._

_“You’d never sacrifice yourself for her. You’re going to stay behind with Cola, because you’re tired of sacrificing shit and you’re tired of fighting. Your brothers are going to get slaughtered and the Girl is going to stay locked up because this mission is destined to fail, and you’re going to spend your life raising together a mass revolution with the rest of the people, you are going to wage an entire war, and then you’re going to destroy BLi and rescue the Girl so she can detonate. That’s your destiny. You’re going to survive, because of your selfishness.”_

_“You’re insane.”_

_“Oh, please. I know how this will end.”_

_“I’m not selfish!”_

_“You are.” A clawed finger presses into their chest. “You have this amazing gift to bridge the land of the living and the dead. Do you know how much closure you could have provided to those? Like Jet Star and his teammates and sister? But you never used it. You mourned it and complained. I gave you this gift and you wasted it, only allowing yourself to interact with the ghosts, never letting them speak for themself. You’re wretched and selfish, and that’s just how you are.”_

_Her face is shoved into theirs. “You’ve died, and all you want is to survive. You don’t want to die young like everyone thinks. You want to have a life, to live it as fully as you can because you had your first twelve snatched away from you. You became a killjoy only for the fame, not because you cared. You just wanna survive and pretend your past never happened.”_

_“I don’t want that!”_

_“You do. That’s why you’ll let your brothers die- so you can have a chance at a life you never had. A new start.”_

_“I would never!”_

_She grabs their shoulder. “You’re a fire, smouldering and you destroy everyone you touch. Everyone you meet, you’ll kill. You are made to destroy, to grow stronger by feeding off others. You’re just a parasitic fire who grows from the fires of revolution. You burn everything in your path. You won’t acknowledge all the wrong you’ve done, all the hurt you’ve caused.”_

_“I wrote your story, I know how this’ll truly end.” Her claws dig into their skin. “I made you, I know every one of your flaws. You’re selfish, you’re no martyr.”_

_Poison’s crying. Tears are streaming down their face at Her words, their shoulders shaking. “I didn’t ask for your gift! I didn’t ask to become a Drac! I didn’t ask for any of this!”_

_“It doesn’t matter. This is what you were given, and you wasted everything because the only thing you ever cared for was yourself and a fresh new start- that’s why you tried to lead those ghosts into the afterlife. You wanted to destroy any and all reminders of your past and you wanted them to stop screaming. You’ve never made an action not out of selfish intent. Every sacrifice you’ve made, every move you’ve made, every heroic impulse to take a shot for someone else or give away your food- it’s not because you want to save them. You just want this all to end. You’re not a hero. Your selflessness is simply suicide. But now you want to survive, now you want to try again, and watching every shred of your past get immolated before your eyes is the perfect start.”_

_“Shut up!” Poison brings their hands to their ears, trying to ignore her. “Shut up! You don’t know a thing about this life, you can’t condemn me!”_

_“I wrote your story with blood and a crow feather. I know what you are, I know who you are. I know you’re destiny, your choice. You’re going to stand by and let your friends get slaughtered. You are selfish and egotistical. You only care about yourself.” Her claws begin to draw blood. “You’re going to survive, and you are going to destroy BLi. Because you have to be the hero, because you were too selfish to die like one when the world needed you to.”_

_Party Poison wrenched away from Her hands. “No! I’m not going to let my friends die without me! I’m not going to act selfishly! I’m going to go save the Girl, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me!”_

_“If you go to Battery City, if you follow your brothers into this death march, you’re going to die. You’re going to throw away your entire destiny, and I will not be able to bring you back.”_

_“I’m going to save the Girl, she is going to be the one to save us. She’s going to be the hero- not me. She’ll find a way.”_

_“You’re all going to die.”_

_“But she won’t!” Poison snatches their mask from Her hands. “I’m going to die, and you can’t stop me.”_

_“You’re ruining everything! You’re meant to destroy BLi! If you die, then you’re destroying this perfect future. There reasons why you are to act selfishly. There are reasons why you need to stay behind. I can't promise the destruction of BLi if you fuck this up.”_

_Poison laughs, crazed and frantic. “Isn’t that what you told me I do best?”_

_Feathers drift. Poison spits at Her feet._

_“I was made to destroy.”_

-

They march into Battery City.

It’s filled to the brim with lingering ghosts. Poison finds it hard to focus, because the souls trapped here are much more miserable than the ones in the desert and are much more vocal.

They march into Battery City with their brothers in arms. Everyone knows this ending. Everyone knows what happened next.

They rescue the Girl. They get slaughtered.

Poison makes the first mistake- they unmask a Drac. They see the face of what could have been a peer, a person, they see themself. And that hesitation is enough for Korse to get the upper hand and a shot rings out.

As their soul begins to slip from one reality to the next, the ghosts begin to get even louder. They shriek and madly make their way into their vision, desperate for their last link to the living to answer their calls before they pass on, before all of their Hope gets crushed. Their screams echo in their ears, bouncing around their head as the blood rushes and gushes out of them and they slip, slip, slip, down, down, down…

Through the curtain of ghosts, through the veil of death, the last thing Party Poison sees is the Girl. Her slack mouth, her fearful eyes.

Party Poison reaches out, ignoring the wails if only to hear her cries. They offer the only word they can think of: “Run.”

Killjoys never die. Well, Party Poison knows for a fact that’s not true. They’ve died before, and they’re dying now. Killjoys die, a lot.

Dying is a lot easier than people think. They aren’t afraid to die, maybe because of how much prep work the Witch gave them.

The Girl screams and cries, her wails the only anchor they have against the sea of ghost as they see Jet Star and Ghoul grab her and dash, as they hear Kobra Kid screaming.

There’s a smile on their face as their last breath slips out of their mouth. She’s safe.

-

-

Party Poison laughs at the irony. They who saw ghosts have now become one.

Long ago, their brothers had followed them into this between planes of existence. But long ago, Cherri Cola managed to scrounge around a few of their items and delivered it to the Witch.

The Witch delivered their souls, but not Party Poison.

It’s out of malice. They threw away Her destiny, Her story. They refused to abide by Her rules, and this is Her payback.

This is their curse. Party Poison doesn’t understand why it has to happen like this, why they’re becoming one of those lost spirits they always spoke to. All they ever wanted to do was the right thing. Why must the Witch damn them?

-

They’re spiralling.

It’s been too many years since they’ve been alive. They can feel the soul splitting. They’re becoming like those ghosts that haunted them when they were alive.

Consumed, utterly consumed by the despair of being dead. Desperate for contact with any living souls to be seen and felt and listened to.

They’re slowly losing their grip. 

They curse the Witch.

-

The Girl offers up their mask.

She detonated. She releases the souls of the damned.

Party Poison knew she was going to be better than them, anyway. She never needed Party Poison to lead a revolution- she had the potential to change the world, and she used it.

-

Party Poison still lingers.

-

She has Her Eyes.

They make eye contact.

They reach out, desperate. They haven’t been seen in years. Time is slippery, and they have no estimate of how much time has passed.

They grope at her throat, desperate.

“Please.”

She watches them, a terror filling her entire body.

“Please.”

-

Is wanting to go home selfish?

**Author's Note:**

>  **party poison** : i see dead people  
>  **jet star, who has seen one (1) horror movie but you know which one** : oh Fuck
> 
> party poison is basically just klaus from tua.... but in a desert....
> 
> anyway i don’t like how this turned out but whatever.
> 
> completely and utterly inspired by sleep


End file.
